


Brighter Path

by SisterMu



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Conversations, Discrimination, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friendship, Homophobic Language, Love, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 120,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterMu/pseuds/SisterMu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a myriad paths to the future.  What if Erik didn't walk away?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wherein we discover the danger of mixing fantasy with telepathy

**Author's Note:**

> I loved how they bought the essence of tragedy - inevitability based on character flaws - to the film. I accept that universe. For myself, though, I choose a happier ending, because I want Erik and Charles working together, balancing each other, and growing old together. This story also contains an optimistic view of the human race.
> 
> Massive thanks to my betas : most of all to Leanne who gives excellent character and narrative criticism, who puts up with being sent 40000 words to beta, and who is an excellent sounding-board and points out plot points I would never have thought of. I bow to your awesome. Also thanks to Alan for patiently and repeatedly saying, 'No, men don't talk that way. They would never say that.'
> 
> Last note : I love constructive criticism and welcome mistakes being pointed out (as long as it doesn't utterly wreck the plot). Do let me know, particularly when I'm getting America/Americanisms wrong.

**Charles**

It is late and Charles is lying naked on the bed clothes, idly touching himself as his thoughts drift.  The training is going well; it's enthralling to watch the others developing their powers and starting to perceive their potential.  And there's still so much to learn.  

He always thought he couldn't be the only one.  When he met Raven, he knew.  There were others out there, like him but with a wonderful diversity of abilities, perhaps boundless permutations.  Humanity was changing and he was in the vanguard of the change.  He had dreamed for years of finding more like them and studying, learning, perceiving the ripples and understanding the new tides.  And now his dreams are coming true.

Talking of dreaming, he's not going to be any use without sleep.  He's sleepy but can't quite drop off.  A quick wank would probably help.  He puts standard mental walls around himself to avoid sharing his orgasm with the whole mansion.  He starts to go over some fantasies.  He stays focused on the brighter, happy ones.  He ignores the shadow, turns his back on it.

The best are memories of past sexual encounters mixed up a bit.  He starts moving his hand more deliberately.  Carol.  Gina.  That woman with heterochromia iridium.  Throw her into the mix.  Mm.  Yes.  Good.  

Except ...

...  it isn't working.  The shadow is making its presence felt.  It is a powerful presence, not surprising, considering who casts it.  Charles stops his rhythm for a moment and sighs.

The thing is, Charles likes women.  Always has.  Women are attractive and fun, bright, sexy and ...  and correct.  Safe and nice and ...

But just sometimes he remembers the hot, messy crush he had on a rower in the second year at university.  Ben was a big, strong lad, and very hands-on with his teammates, in a straight, platonic, sportsman's way.  So Charles became a cox and spent a couple of years with platonic hands patting him on the shoulder, shoving him playfully, an arm slung around him when the beer was flowing.   

He became good at ignoring the hardness of his cock.  It helped that every time they won a race, the cox traditionally gets chucked into the cold rivers.  It even helped, in a wretched sort of way, that he never felt the slightest answering heat or interest from the rower.  Ben had been a hundred per cent heterosexual.  Lucky bastard.

He learned in the end to keep his distance from the rowers.  It was too frustrating.  He had concentrated on women, content enough, and ignored the occasional flickering male attractions.   

Just sometimes, if a woman had turned him down, and he was finding it hard to masturbate to completion thinking about her, he would take out a memory of Ben, like a grubby porn mag hidden under a teenage bed, and jerk himself furiously until he came, resigned, messy, and looking at a part of himself he didn't want.

Now, though, he has a new problem.  Now it would be great to be able to come thinking about Ben, a nice chap, a safe and sane Englishman who Charles understood pretty well.  His body is not interested.  His body wants to be covered and pinned by a big, dangerous, German Jewish mutant who is not nice but runs hot with anger and power and driven determination.

It's a bad idea, it's a bad idea, even with Erik half a mansion away.  He'll have to see Erik tomorrow, work with him, play with him, chess, _chess_ , play CHESS with him.

Charles takes a deep breath.  He fixes Ben in his mind, Ben leaning over him, supporting himself on one hand while he strokes them both with the other.  Charles runs his hands over Ben's muscles.  It's good.  Maybe this is enough.  Until he notices the fantasy includes a naked Erik leaning against the wall and shaking his head.   

Fantasy Erik grabs fantasy Ben and flings him across the room where he evaporates.  Erik climbs onto the bed and says, "A human, Charles?  Is that the most you aspire to?"  He leans down to give Charles the hottest kiss he has ever known and shoves two fingers inside him.

Charles breaks the fantasy and lies with one hand gripping his cock tightly and the other thrown over his eyes.  No, bad idea.  Mustn't think about this.

Sod it.  Wallow in it once and then buy some new porn mags.  Male ones if necessary.  Let's go.

Nothing has ever turned him on like the thought of Erik and there's something a bit depressing about that.  Right now he hasn't time to think it out.  He allows himself to go wild.  His mouth hangs open as he imagines Erik's cock in it, imagines his nose brushing Erik's stomach and Erik's hips pumping.  Erik murmurs filthy things and runs a hand through Charles hair, the other hand gently circling Charles' throat.

He pushes Charles off, raises him up, kisses him messily, heatedly, holds him tight in strong arms and grinds their cocks together.  He tosses Charles backwards, grins at him, happy and loving, and spreads Charles' legs.  He runs his fingernails down the backs of Charles's thighs and then bends down to kiss Charles' cock and his anus.  Do people do that, Charles wonders?  Is it allowed?  Never mind, it's a fantasy.  He lets it keep going.

Erik rises up, full of lust, tight with it.  He raises Charles' hips and slowly but relentlessly thrusts into him.  Charles pushes his head back into the pillow, wrenching at himself, imagining powerful thrusts slamming him hard, powerful hands holding him steady.  _Erik_ , he chants.  _Erik.  Erik.  Erik.  ERIK.  ERIK.  ERIK.  ERIK_.

The bedroom door slams open.  Erik flies in at a dead run, power raised and a knife in his hand.  "Was ist dann lo-?  Oh."  Erik takes in Charles lying on the covers, hand gripping his dripping cock, flushed red.

Charles' eyes are fixed on the ceiling.  He wonders if his blush of humiliation is redder than his lustful flush.  It certainly feels like it.  His power curls in on itself, he doesn't want to know what Erik is feeling.  His cock throbs and he grips it tighter, surprised at it.  He supposes the daft thing is quite happy to have Erik see it.

A thought strikes him.  Still studying the ceiling, he asks "Do you think we'll ever find a mutant who can sink into the floor at will?  Or turn back time?  Might come in handy."

Erik's voice is calm.  "We should watch out for that.  There might be all sorts of applications."  Charles reckons there's definitely amusement mixed in there.

"Right.  Well.  We'll keep it in mind.  Those powers ...  are what we will keep in mind."  He presses his eyes with one hand.  "Well.  I appreciate the ...  rapidity of your, uh, rescue.  Good to know if there's trouble, you'll ...  .    Anyway,"  he grabs the covers and flings them over himself, turns his back to the door, "I'll just go to sleep now, and you can ...  go, and thank you, and good night."  He stops himself talking and clears his throat.

After a moment he hears the door close.  He squeezes himself into a little ball of humiliation and whimpers.  He bangs his head - gently - against the edge of the nightstand.

The covers are pulled off him, out from under, then resettled over him.  Now, though, a big, hot body is lying behind his own.  A warm hand strokes him from his shoulder, down his back, over the curve of his arse and onto his thigh.  He shudders and writhes.  Erik speaks softly.  "Are you sure there's nothing more I can do for you tonight?"  He gently bites Charles' shoulder.  His cock presses against Charles' arse.

Charles attempts to form a firm thought amidst his chaotic reactions.  "Um.  Um.  You know this is probably a bad idea."  He reaches out with his mind to try to understand but apart from arousal, there's nothing projected.  This isn't...  this is...  but he shouldn't, they shouldn't.

"I know."  Erik is emphatic.  His palm, however, rubs the crown of Charles cock, getting wet, then slides down the length and begins pumping.   

There's only so much a man can ask of himself.  Charles turns onto his back and angles his head for a kiss.  Erik pulls back slightly.  "I don't kiss."  His drops his head to Charles' neck and kisses that, though.

Charles is really quite disappointed but a deft hand is on his cock and another is rubbing across his chest and playing with his nipples.  A warm mouth has found a place on his neck that makes him gasp.  He can't complain.

He has a vague idea he should do something for Erik and tries to think of it.  He's used to women, he doesn't know what to do for a man.  Wait, he is a man.  He likes, he likes that, oh, _that_ , and his hips are thrusting in time with Erik's hand.  Erik licks under his ear and speeds his hand while the other drops to Charles' balls.

Erik whispers in his ear, "You're so fucking sexy and I've wanted you for weeks."

Charles clutches Erik's shoulders and yells as he comes.  Erik keeps stroking his cock to the last drop.

When Charles is lying back on his pillows, Erik runs a hand from his shoulder down his chest and starts to roll his fingers in the semen on Charles' stomach.

Charles lies in a haze, his powers in disarray.  He can feel his walls still in place and Erik's heat inside those walls with him.  He opens his eyes when he feels a thumb rub wetness on his anus.  A finger pushes gently inside.  He gasps and tries to sit up.  Erik is leaning between Charles' legs and watching what he's doing to Charles' arse.  Charles tries to see too.  Erik's finger goes further in and it hurts a bit.

"I, uh ..."

"Lie back and relax," says Erik.

He does so and wonders if Erik has caught telepathic command abilities from him.  He tries in a sleepy, satiated, brainless way to frame an objection to something he might want.  Then Erik's finger pushes deeper, Charles grunts and is about to abandon eloquence for 'Stop', when Erik strokes something wonderful and Charles cries out.  Erik keeps stroking the spot and Charles twists and moans.  He reaches out for Erik mentally, finds heat and intense focus.  He offers his own arousal and tries to hold back the devotion he is currently feeling for the man.

Erik starts fucking him with two fingers and when Charles adapts quickly, he adds a third.  Charles feels stuffed and caught between pleasure and pain.  He also feels a bit useless.  He hasn't done anything for Erik.  Erik is lusting, this is true.  Maybe Erik likes Charles pliant and submissive.  All the same, Charles feels he ought to make an effort.

He realises he has been watching Erik's face or chest, when his eyes have been open.  He has been avoiding looking at Erik's cock.  He leans up on his elbows and looks.  His eyes widen.  He is turned on and terrified.  Erik twists his fingers and Charles almost collapses again.  Erik pulls out and positions his cock.

"Wait.  Wait."

Erik struggles.  "Why?  Are you hurt?"

Charles sits up.  "I just, I want..."  He leans forward.  Erik leans back to give him space.  Charles licks his lips then carefully kisses the crown of Erik's cock.  It bucks and Erik takes a huge breath through his nose.  He lets it out slowly and leans back against the bedframe.  Charles moves in again, nervous and wishing he could justify reading Erik's thoughts to know if this is any good.  He can feel Erik's lust but Erik is still in control and they're not talking and not kissing and maybe Erik would have sex with anyone who asked.  Sort of asked.  And maybe Charles won't be good enough.

Erik lifts Charles' head with with his fingers.  He is smiling slightly.  "Charles," and Erik's voice is deep and caresses his name, "stop thinking."

"I've never done this.  I want to."

"Then relax.  Take your time.  Enjoy it."  He spreads his legs and gently urges Charles' head down again.

Charles lies down with his head on Erik's thigh and takes the big, cut cock in his hand.  He starts to kiss and lick it, learning its feel and taste.  Erik takes Charles' spare hand in one of his own and uses the other to stroke his hair, occasionally running down to stroke his neck and shoulder.  Charles relaxes.  He's glad to discover he likes this.  He feels Erik's pleasure rising, hears his breathing quicken.  Erik draws his nails across Charles' skin.   

Charles feels pleased with himself.  Time for something more advanced.  He raises up and takes the head of Erik's cock into his mouth.  He closes his lips around it, sucks in short pulses and hears Erik's breathing hitch.  At last.  He projects his own pleasure and picks up dizzying heat.  He tries to take Erik deep into his throat and chokes.

He pulls off and Erik caresses his throat, kisses it.  His hands go behind Charles' head and push down gently.  "Don't try for too much.  Take a little at a time.  Wrap your hand around the base.  Move and suck.  You're doing fine."  Charles obeys him and Erik keeps talking.  "You have a gorgeous, hot mouth and it's driving me crazy.  I want to fuck it, it's all I can do to hold still."  Charles loves this, his head bobbing, Erik's voice, taste, the feel of him like silk over steel, his own mouth stretched.  He relaxes the gagging impulse and takes Erik a little deeper.

Erik groans.  "My innocent little cocksucker.  Can you feel what you do to me?  Can you feel the fire, the power that you raise in me?"  And now Charles can.  Erik has moved his walls back and the pulsing lust is so strong that it rolls through Charles, pushing his own desire to a frantic pitch.  He moves his head and hand faster, his jaw aching.  Erik's fingers rub through his hair.  "Make me wet, Charles.  Make me slick so I can thrust inside you."  Erik sends an image to him and Charles shudders with their combined lust.  He pulls off and licks Erik with broad, wet strokes until his cock is shining.

Erik pulls him up and pushes him back.  Charles is pulling breath in and this isn't helped by being turned onto his stomach.  _Erik_?

 _Easier_ , Erik thinks.  _I won't hurt you so much_.

Erik's hands pull his hips up.  Erik's fingers stretch him again and it hurts a bit but he's so horny he doesn't care.  Then Erik is pushing his cock in and it hurts more.  He tries to hold it in, not project the pain.  He won't tell Erik to stop because Erik's lust is molten and Charles wants it even if the pain is threatening his erection.

Maybe he did project that because Erik's hand reaches round and starts to pump his cock while he finishes entering him.  Charles gasps harshly and he holds onto Erik's lust, using it to reinforce his own.  He will do this.  Erik is moving in tiny thrusts, adjusting his angle until Charles feels the same shot of pleasure he felt earlier on Erik's fingers.  _There, right there_.

Erik hits it everytime.  At first, he uses little thrusts, then longer, harder ones as Charles relaxes and his cock hardens and starts drooling.  The pain is now a low burn and Charles isn't bothered because everything else is intoxicating, hot, and his desire is past anything he has known.  Erik speeds up and Charles feels both their orgasms uncurling.  He claws at the sheets and pushes back, in time with Erik's thrusts.  Erik shouts and they're coming together, feelings feeding into each other and the power of it is awesome.

They are both left gasping and shaking, Erik's arm is tight around Charles' waist and Charles grips it tightly.  Then Erik pulls out of him and Charles feels Erik's heat leave his back.  He has no muscle strength and very few thoughts.  From the corner of his eye he sees Erik kneeling behind him, head thrown back, chest heaving.  Charles reaches out with his mind.  He feels satiation like his own and shyly offers affection.  Erik rubs his leg and gets off the bed.

"You can stay if you want."

"Another bad idea.  I think one a day should be our limit."

"Right."

Erik pulls his shorts back on.  He summons his knife to his hand and looks at Charles.  Charles is aware of lying naked on his bed, sweat cooling, arse burning, Erik's semen inside him.  He has no idea whether he wants Erik to go or stay.  It's not his decision, though.  Erik says, "Sleep well," and leaves.

Charles gets under the covers.  The movement causes semen to drip out of him.  He takes the semen on his fingers, rubs it between them and takes a shuddering breath.  He thinks, and finds, to his surprise, no regrets.  He goes to sleep happy.

\---------------

Charles wonders whether Erik wants to have sex again the next night.  He knows his standard chat-up line is not going to work.  He discards the second-string ones as well.  Would 'Do you want have sex?' work?  It would work on him and they are both men.

Then the bloody Yanks and the bloody Reds and bloody, bloody Shaw decide to kick off.

They stop the war.  It isn't enough.  He's fighting Erik and losing.  Moira is shooting.  And then there's pain.


	2. Wherein Moira tries to get things done

**Moira**

When Erik moves away, Moira goes straight to Charles.  In the background, she can hear Erik giving the others his sales pitch.  It's a bleak vision but after the missiles, she won't be surprised if they go with him.  That's not her concern right now.  "Let me see."

"It'll be fine, I'm sure."

"Yeah, I'm sure.  Let me just look."  It's a bullet wound.  What is up with these people? It's not flaming spit or pure energy so they ignore it? She lies down and lifts him slightly, moves his clothes.  She goes cold.  "Erik!"

Erik keeps talking to the others.  "ERIK.  He needs a doctor, right now!"

Erik pauses and turns his head slightly.

"The wound is on the spine.  If he has a spinal cord injury, every second counts to prevent worse damage."  Erik doesn't move.  Maybe he doesn't get it, so she spells it out.  "He could be paralysed and the longer we leave it the worse it will be."

Raven shoots past Erik and kneels beside Charles.

"Charles?  How bad is it?"

"I'll be fine.  Don't worry."

Moira says, "Charles!  This is not the time for self-sacrifice.  You've got a world to change.  How bad is it?"  She is vaguely aware of shadows around her, the others moving closer.

With desperate casualness, Charles says, "I can't feel my legs."

Hank and Sean kneel beside him now.  Moira looks for Erik.  He is closer, but still standing several feet away, just looking at Charles.  Moira can't think of what else to say.  If that didn't move him ...  Moira starts to hate him then, her worst fears manifesting.

Then he shakes himself and says, "Azazel.  Take us to a hospital."

"New York Presbyterian," supplies Moira, as her relief washes the hate away.

Azazel looks to Erik.  "You want me to drop you in plain view?"

"I don't care."

"And we need to keep him as still as possible," says Moira.  "We mustn't make it worse.  We need something to keep him still and straight."

A sheet of metal flies over.  Charles levitates slightly and the metal slides underneath.  "Take us," says Erik.

Azazel nods.  "As you command."

Moira hopes Erik doesn't get too used to that attitude.

\---------------

At the hospital, the words 'gun shot' and 'spinal cord' get them straight in.  The letters 'CIA' get them out of reporting a gunshot wound.  Erik orders Azazel to take the others to the mansion while he, Moira and Raven stay with Charles.  Moira wonders why the teleporter is so compliant and how long it'll last.

Erik gets some weird looks for the helmet and leather suit, but no-one stands in his way.  He and Moira stand in the little cubicle as far apart as they can without getting in the doctor's way.  It's about 10 inches.  Raven is just outside, in her blonde form, peering round the curtain.  Charles lies on his side on the bed and stares at the wall.  Moira's freaking inside because Charles doesn't do silence.

The doctor says, "The wound to the back muscles is just a flesh wound.  That'll heal fine.  It doesn't look like the bullet's gone through, though.  It may be lodged in the spine.  We'll have to..."

"It's out," says Erik.

"We have to check."

Erik raises all the metal instruments two feet and turns them in slow circles.  "I drew it out myself.  There were no fragments."

The doctor stares at the instruments.  Erik lets them crash down.  The doctor jumps, Moira and Charles flinch.  The doctor turns to stare at Erik.  Erik stares back.  Moira draws a breath but then the doctor shakes himself and says, "OK, what about bone fragments?"

Erik blinks.  "I don't know."

"We'll have to check for those then."  He turns back to Charles.  "OK, Mr. Xavier, we'll going to send you for x-rays and then prep you for surgery.  I'm going to call a neurosurgeon, we have a great guy here, he'll tell us what the prognosis is.  The paralysis may just be spinal shock.  How long has it been since you were shot?"

"Er, no idea, to be honest."

"About ten minutes," says Moira.

"Wow.  That's great.  Let's get this show on the road."  He steps out to call an orderly.

Raven kneels in front of Charles and takes his hand.  "Why didn't you say straight away?"

"I don't want you _tied_ to me.  I want you happy.  You couldn't have gone freely if you were worrying."

She kisses his forehead.  "Idiot.  How would I have felt when I found out?"

"You would already be free."

Erik says.  "You'll be fine, Charles.  We won't let this be."

"We're a bit lacking on the medical front, though, aren't we?  Have to find a healer."

"We will."  Erik isn't agreeing, he is commanding the future.

Charles nods.  He says, "Do you have to go?  Or can you stay a while?"  He is so damned calm, Moira feels like screaming for balance.

Erik pauses.  "I'll stay until you're better."

"I wish I could hold you to that.  For your sake you might want to say, 'until we know' or 'until you're settled'."

The doctor returns with orderlies, nurses and another doctor.  Raven says, "Can I go with him?  I'm his sister."

"OK," says the doctor.  "Just keep calm and stay out of the way."

"Sure, sure."

They leave and somebody hands Moira a clipboard of forms.  The doctor turns to Erik.  "We have machines and lots sick people here, so, don't do anything weird, OK?"

"Wasn't planning to."

"OK.  And if I need any metal extractions, I'm coming to you.  Waiting room's that way."

He leaves and Erik stares after him.  Moira grabs his arm and pulls him to the waiting room.  To her relief, it is empty.  She sits and starts to fill out the forms.  The CIA can pick up the tab for this.  Erik stands against a wall with his arms folded.  He is utterly still.  A metal ashtray, though, rises up from the table and starts to twist and crumple.  Moira doesn't mention it.

Moira believes there are a myriad paths to the future.  Right now, most of them are dark and bloody.  There are so many ways that the next hundred years go badly.  When she shuts her eyes and sees the few bright paths that avoid the storms, the slime, the devouring night, the dark morass and the blood-soaked earth, on those paths, she sees Charles and Erik together.  But Charles has apparently failed to find the words to make Erik stay.  Can she?  She doesn't know him.  Doesn't know what touches him, if anything does.  Erik, she guesses, hasn't received a lot of caring since the war.  Should she be gentle?  Would he see that as weakness?  Should she get pissed with him, smash a few home truths into that stubborn chest?  It would be very satisfying.  And terrifying.  She remembers her prized dogtags being turned against her.  Death closing around her and oh Charles, dear God, maybe she deserved it.

The thought of confronting Erik makes her very weak and scared.  But what else to do?  Let him walk away to bring war?  No.  So.  Here goes.  Give it everything you got, woman, then at least you'll never wonder if you could have changed things.

She chooses her words with great care.  What gets under Erik's skin?  "My Dad was a soldier who liberated the death camps."  The ashtray freezes.  Moira watches it as she speaks.  "He didn't talk about it, I don't think even to my Mom, until one day I told a joke which I thought was so funny.  My brother and sister laughed and my Mom just said, 'That's not nice, dear," but my father's face was stone.  And I said, 'Why is it not nice?  It's funny.'  And then my father started to talk.  And I learned what anti-Semitism was.  And how even in good times it had been unpleasant jokes and slights and in bad times it became a weapon."

"Shut.  Up."  The ashtray begins spinning and lengthening.

Moira keeps talking.  "He told us how a whole race became scapegoats and a madman whipped up fear and hatred against them.  In the end, even the people who knew them and knew they were good and kind, started to avoid them and parrot the jokes and the nasty rumours.  Maybe it was because they were afraid that otherwise their neighbours would lump them together with those people.  Or maybe because they were just dicks."  A point grows at the bottom of the spinning metal.  "And then ...  he told us about the concentration camps and the death camps ...  and the ovens."  A blade slams down into the table.   

Moira fights not to whimper.  She thinks she can feel the magnetism all around her and hopes it isn't upsetting any hospital machines.  Tries to remember if she has any metal inside her.  She's notices she's touching her throat, and drops her hand.  She keeps her voice steady.  "I remember crying and trying to shut out his voice.  I didn't want to believe that people could do that.  But he'd been there.  He'd met the survivors and seen what happened to the dead.  And he told us it all."  The blade rises and slams into the table again.  Moira peeps at Erik.  He is still a statue and his face is blank.  She turns back and finds the blade two feet away and pointing at her.

Her heart is doing double time.  The trouble is, she has no power like the others.  She's barely a candle to Erik's sun.  All she has are words.  So she draws in a long breath and continues.  "I couldn't deny the truth of the awful things people could do and when I tried to suggest it was just the Germans, he threw in the Indian massacres that came with American expansion.  Or the British killing our ancestors in Scotland.  Or the Christians killing right and left in their Crusades.  'Everyone,' he said, 'everyone's done it.  It's what we are."

The blade drew back.  "Yes!  It's the human way.  It is what you are.  War between us is inevitable!"

"That's kind of what I said to my Dad.  'Is that all we are?  Are we the worst creatures on the planet?'  And Dad said, 'No.'  And then he told us about Carl Lutz, Oskar Schindler, others.  About little houses with hidden rooms all over Europe where the Jews hid, and their neighbours risked their lives and their families' lives to protect them.  About Denmark, and the Greek island where the leaders just point blank refused to hand anyone over.  About the Righteous Among the Nations.  And he said to remember that bad guys always get more publicity than good ones.  That's why everyone can name famous criminals but who's ever heard of a famous cop?

"That's where your narrative breaks down, isn't it, Erik?  'The humans will destroy us all.'  Except humanity is not ...  not homogenized into one pattern of behaviour.  What one human will do, another will reject.  What one fears, another welcomes.  You want to make your life nice and simple and fit people into neat little boxes, even if you have to cut off bits of them to do it.  Metaphorically."  She looks at the blade.  "Or not."  She sighs.  "You don't want to try to do anything hard and messy, like separate out the bastards from the scared from the ignorant from the allies.  It's too hard for you.  You don't know how." She swallows.  "After all, that's what the people around you taught you as a child."  The blade turns towards her again.  "They taught you to see people in broad categories : Übermensch unt Untermenschen."  She pauses.  "Mutants and humans."  The blade flies towards her and buries itself in the wall right by her neck.

She manages to keep a grip on her bladder, is quite proud of that.  She doesn't swallow because she feels as though the blade is so close that the movement will cut her.  She leans slightly away and in a husky voice she finishes.  "That's what you said to Charles on the beach.  That you are already the better men.  But 'better' is not about power or strength or genetics, as Hitler believed."  Thin spikes are being teased out of the metal and start to press her skin.  She can hardly breathe with fear.  "It's about ethics and what a person will and will not do.  If you raise your new race, these children, without ethics," she feels the pricks, and the precious chain around her neck starts to twist again, "then with all their awesome powers what exactly will they do ...  to each other?"

She is finished, perhaps twice and now there is no Charles to save her.

 _Moira?_

 _Hey Charles.  Ow, oh.  Erik's pissed with me.  My fault._

 _Erik!  Erik!  Damn that bloody helmet.  Raven's coming._

 _It's been swell knowing you, Charles.  I wouldn't have missed a moment.  Except all the dead agents in Virginia.  I'm glad Shaw's dead too._

 _Moira, hang on.  We won't let you die._

 _I know you have a chance to build peace.  Don't let Erik go.  You need him.  And, God, does he need you._ There is pain in her neck and blood running down it.  She's losing air.  Her lungs and throat try to work but barely a wisp of breath makes it in.  She starts to panic.

 _Moira!  We need you too.  Hold on.  Fight!_

"Erik!"  Raven flies into the room.  "STOP.  NOW.  Please!"  She grabs at the blade and the dogtags.  Her hands become bloody.  "Erik!"

The blade withdraws and the chain loosens.  Moira gasps and clutches her neck.  Raven is holding her.

Erik drops the metal.  "Don't ever presume to lecture me, human."

Moira breathes roughly, trying to go slow and deep, her twice-abused throat so tender.  Still.  She held it together through all that, she's not going to give up now.  "Erik." Cough.  "You're so fucked up and full of shit.  You need a cuddle and a boot in the ass, twice a day.  I'm the boot."

Raven boggles at her.

 _Do you actually_ have _a death wish?  Should I have left you to it?_

"Go on, Raven.  Give him a cuddle.  He's had a hell of a day.  I'm going to find a doctor.  I figure there should be one around here, somewhere."  She gets unsteadily to her feet, leans against the wall.  She looks at Erik.  "If you take that ugly helmet off, you can have a mental hug too."

"Not for long,"  says Raven.  "They're prepping him for surgery."

\---------------

A different doctor is getting out some bandages.  Moira is lying still on a gurney, trying to breath gently and work out if her speech was worth anything or if she was just wasting her breath.  Hah.

Raven comes into the treatment room and Moira sits up, offers her some space but she doesn't take it.  She does come close, though.  "What did you say to him?" she whispers.

"I just offered him another perspective.  Whether he'll think about it, I don't know."

"I thought he was going to kill you."  When the doctor looks up, they pause and smile at her.  The doctor efficiently bandages Moira's neck then leaves to fetch a prescription.  Raven continues.  "I couldn't stop him."

"Looked to me like you did.  Thanks for the save."

Raven waves it off and looks away.  "I should call the others."

"Yeah.  I should call in."

Raven looks back, worried.  "What are you going to say?"

"Not a lot.  I was on that beach too, remember?  I did not expect those missiles."

"Erik's right about humans."

Moira sticks out her hand.  "Nice to meet you.  Moira MacTaggert, human and not trying to kill you."

"You tried to kill Erik."

"I wasn't shooting to kill."

"So what, that makes it OK?"

"I had to stop him.  To try."

"Why?  He was defending us all.  You too, remember?"

"No.  Defending us would have been blocking those missiles and dropping them into the water.  Just like defending himself would have been stopping those bullets and dropping them to the sand.  He tried to kill hundreds of men."

"I don't care.  He should have done it."  She folds her arms and glares.

"And then what would have happened?"

"Then we go to war.  And we win."

"No.  Then every mutant who is not strong pays the price.  All the ones Charles and Erik didn't choose to fight Shaw.  Erik won't pay, though.  Not for a while.  And all that while, in the name of protecting the weak, he'll just bring more trouble down on the heads of those who can't defend themselves.  If you can't bring yourself to care about the men who would have died, and their families, at least care about your own.  Consequences.  Something Erik doesn't seem to get."

"Of course he gets it."

"Can't say I've noticed."

"You don't know him."

Moira raises her hands in surrender.

The doctor comes back and signs Moira off.  And gives her a clipboard with insurance forms.  She sighs again.

"I'm going to make that call,"  says Raven.

"Good idea.  Then you can listen in when I give my preliminary report so you can tell Erik I'm not selling anyone up the river."

"Yet."  Raven leaves.

Moira collapses back onto the bed and wishes she had the mutant power to rip the clipboard apart.  It would be therapeutic.

A few minutes later, Raven comes back, looking worried.

"Everything OK?" 

"No answer."

Moira gets worried too but she says, "They're probably sacked out.  It's been a hell of a day."  She huffs a laugh.  "Hell of a month."

"Yeah."

A moment's silence then Moira says, "Where's Erik?"

"I don't know.  Bathroom, I think."

Moira tries to go upbeat.  "Did you give him that hug?"  She expects rolled eyes but Raven looks away, looks miserable, and blushes deeply.  Uh oh.  "Yeah, I know, that was dumb of me.  I don't think Erik's much of a hugger."

"Stop calling him Erik.  He's Magneto."

Moira raises her eyebrows but nods.  "Oh.  Magneto.  Right.  That's even less of a hugging name."

"You don't know anything!"  And Raven disappears again.

Moira falls back onto the bed again.  Damn and double damn.  How could things get worse?  No, don't ask that.  Ask that question and they always do.


	3. Wherein Erik plots and plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hebrew : Ima - Mother; Abba - Father.  
> German : Ziege - female insult; Scheisse - swearword; Alles gut - It's fine; Jetzt - now.

**Erik**

The human walks away.  Ignorant, sanctimonious Ziege.  Preaching to him?  Erik feels the metal around him starting to react.  He struggles to release it, to calm himself.  He is hyper-aware of all the metal in the building, of every strengthening bar, every shaped slice, every strand with streaming electrons.  He feels the vaguer, moving shapes of nearby humans, living iron pumping round their bodies, slight electromagnetism radiating around them.   He feels MacTaggert.  She has paused just a few steps outside the door.  Out of sight but not out of range.  Why has she stopped?  Eavesdropping?  An ambush?  Removing her dog-tags, as though that could save her?  Perhaps just weakness.  

He becomes aware of Raven.  He can feel her electromagnetic field touching his where her hand hovers just above his arm.  He looks at her.  She smiles at him nervously.

"You have had a rough day," she says.  "You should relax.  I could get us some coffee while we wait."

"No.  Thank you."

"Or there's a careteria if you feel like eating."

"No."

"Or - " she twists her hands, " - or we could go somewhere quiet if you need to talk.  Or relax."

Erik shakes his head.  What does he need, want, feel?  He looks back to her.  "Keep an eye on Moira.  Call the others at the mansion."  

"Right."  She nods.

He leaves and finds his way to the men's room.  It is empty and he seals the door with his power to keep it that way.

He splashes water on his face through the front of the helmet.  He raises his face and looks at himself for a long time.  Then he takes the helmet off.

 _Charles?_

 _Erik?  Friend, dear friend.  Erik.  Stay, Erik.  Friend, Erik, stay ..._

 _Charles?_

 _Erik ..._

 _Charles!_

No answer.

Erik realises he is reaching out to a part of the ceiling.  He quickly fists his hand in case his power is reaching for Charles too, disrupting the surgery.

Scheisse.  Surgery.  Charles.  Cutting into him.

Every tap in the room hits the ceiling.  Some lodge, some crash down.  He has to go NOW.  He needs distance.  He has to THINK.

He grabs the helmet, leaves the bathroom.  He finds a back way out of the hospital.  He allows himself to disappear into the city.  Despite his clothes, you can always disappear in a city.  He finds the cheaper part of town where the pawnbrokers aren't bothered by provenance and liquidises some assets he always has with him.  Then he finds a richer part of town, a gentleman's outfitters and finally, a hotel.

He registers as Klaus Wagner, Swiss businessman out of Zurich.  He is shown to his suite.  He showers.  He eats.  Then he lies down on the bed and thinks.  

He tries to think.

Charles.

He summons some coins from his trouser pocket.  He directs them in an intricate dance, calming his mind.

Ima.

The coins float away.

He takes a deep breath.  Shaw is dead.  It's taken so long but it is done.  Would she be pleased?  Would she be proud?  Alles gut, Ima.  Jetzt alles gut.  

Her face is misty in his mind.  He has just one clearer memory that Charles brought back for him, her looking at him, loving him.  Would she be pleased that her murderer is dead?  He can't tell.  

His father would be proud.  Yes, his father is proud.  The memories are clearer, those five minute meetings every week that Shaw gave him to keep him obedient as his control grew.  His father's wasted face and sick body.  His father happy that his son was still strong, still healthy.  His father loving him and they would get through this, they would be together, they ...  

His father would be proud.  He knows it.  Alles gut, Abba.  Jetzt.

Shaw is dead; the vengeful anger that drove Erik, and the torment of knowing that Shaw lived on unpunished are gone.  Those, at least, are gone.  

But he thought Shaw's death would allow him to feel less.  He is satisfied that it is done.  Except now he can think of his parents without rage, he finds the sadness that he has smothered all these years.  

His parents are dead and he is very sad.  Abba.  Ima.  They are so far away.  And he will not be with them again.

He breathes very deeply and lets out a long, long sigh.  He wishes Charles were here, together again in a hotel room, as they were on their search.  But quiet.  Just together.

Ima.  Abba.  Charles.

This is no good.  This weakness, these weak feelings, they are poison.  He hasn't survived this long, hasn't carried out his vengeance with weakness.  Shaw is dead but Kennedy and Khrushchev are not.  The governments and the militaries are still strong and the humans are everywhere, waiting to carry out a fresh genocide on a new, young race.  

He won't let it happen.

Only one person can stand in his way - Charles.  

Don't feel sorry for him.  Think of him across the chessboard.  Erik has to out-manoeuvre Charles if he wants to keep him close on Erik's terms.  He needs Charles.  So.

Plan.  He summons the coins back from the corner of the room and arranges them in a circle, orbiting above him.  

The immediate dangers are the CIA, the NSA, the KGB.  They will be searching.  They will be researching everything about all of them.  The mansion won't be safe for long.  There will be records of Charles' ownership of it.  They need to leave America and find somewhere to hole up and plan until Charles is well.  Whatever well will mean in the future.

Where to go?  How much will Kennedy and Khrushchev tell their allies?  Not much, if he knows powerful men.  They will keep the mutant angle a secret, at least until they have a plan of their own.  Still, there are countries in the world which aren't notably allied to one or the other.  

They need assets.  He has some of his own and Shaw's men can give him a lead on Shaw's.  Charles isn't the poor academic, either.  That should be enough to go on with.

They need to get Emma Frost out of the CIA's clutches.  No-one is being left behind.  She will be needed, as long as she is no threat to Charles.

They need to get away from MacTaggert.  Charles' trust in her is dangerous.

They need to be near a good set of doctors.  Europe then.  

They need to stand together.  He didn't find out on the beach who would have gone with him and who with Charles.  With luck, it will be the same thing.

He has to persuade Charles to go with him.  Then again, how much of a position is Charles in to object?  With the helmet, how can Charles stop him?  Once they are away, he will have time to work on him, wear him down.  Persuade him somehow.

An image of a kiss flashes into his mind.

No.  Not that.  It's not the time.  That's ...  dangerous.

He has a plan.  He pulls a coin down from the ring and spins it on its own.

First, get rid of MacTaggert.

One by one, he lines up other coins, one for each point, sets them spinning.

Second, get away from the mansion.

Third, get Charles and thus all of them away somewhere secure with good doctors.  Switzerland or France, perhaps.

Fourth, get Frost.

Fifth, secure their assets.

Sixth, work on Charles.

Seventh, make their plans.

Seven coins spin above him.

He closes his eyes.  He should get started on the first two points of his plan.  He takes a deep breath.  The coins descend slowly.  He will go back to the hospital.  Work something out with Raven to decoy MacTaggert away.

He sleeps.

\---------------

Erik jerks awake.  It is evening.  He checks the clock.  Two hours asleep.

He gets up, dresses, packs the helmet and the leather outfit into a bag, returns to the hospital.

A few well-placed distractions get him into the dispensary.  He steals what he needs and goes to find Raven and MacTaggert.

He finds them in the waiting room.  Raven is still in her blonde form, sitting with her feet drawn up, staring ahead, misery on her beautiful face.  He notices she has some plasters around her fingers.  MacTaggert is sitting beside her, staring at her own feet.  A bandage is fixed to the side of her neck.

Erik kneels in front of Raven.  She focuses, smiles a little at him.

"No word?" he asks.

She is sad, again.  "Not yet.  The first doctor came in a while back and said it might take a while.  They have to," she raises her eyes to recite, "stabilise the spine, inhibit the spinal shock, remove any bone fragments.  It's delicate work.  And even when it's done, it might take, " she takes a controlled breath, "take up to six weeks to know what the effects of the damage will be."

He grips her shoulder.  "He will heal fully.  We will find a way."

She nods.

"You should get some rest.  Here," he hands her his hotel key, "I have a room.  Go and get some food and rest."  He looks at MacTaggert.  "Both of you.  You need it.  I'll call you when there's any word."

They both agree.  "We can get a cab,"  says MacTaggert, standing.  

Raven drags herself up, stumbles.  Erik catches her, pulls her into a hug.  "He will be well,"  he says.  He drops his mouth to whisper in her ear, "Come back when she's sleeping."  He presses two sleeping pills from his palm into hers.

Raven looks up at him with an obscure expression.  Then she nods and he releases her.

They walk out together.  MacTaggert puts her arm around Raven's shoulders.

Erik wanders into the corridor and meets Charles' first doctor, just leaving for the day.  The doctor peers at him through his glasses.  "Did you destroy our bathroom?"

"Yes."

The doctor rubs his eyes.  "Just don't destroy anything that we use for fixing people, OK?"

"Tell me about spinal injuries."

The doctor looks to the exit, looks back at Erik, and shrugs.  They sit in the waiting room;  the doctor talks and Erik listens, adjusting the plan to what he learns.

\---------------

Raven returns after an hour.  "It worked.  She's out cold."

"Good."

"What now?"

"Wait here until there's news.  I'm going to pull the others out of the mansion.  If there's trouble, go to the Liberty Bell Hotel near LaGuardia.  Take a different form.  We'll meet you there."

"OK."

He gives her a brief nod and leaves.

He goes first to the hotel.  It is simple work to tie MacTaggert to the bed with metal, to break the 'phone lines and to seal the door.  Housekeeping will find her some time tomorrow, if she can't yell for help before then.  It all gives them time.

At the station, he finds a train heading out through Westchester and slips onto the top, lying flat on the benign metal.  The slipstream harasses him.  He gazes up at the darkening sky and the emerging stars.  It's not the worst journey he's ever taken.

In Westchester, he flits low, cross-country to the mansion.  When he arrives, it takes him a moment in the dark to notice the windows of one living room are scattered on the ground.  He approaches cautiously and peeks inside.  The room is ravaged.  With utter stealth, he slides into the mansion to see who or what he can find.


	4. Wherein they try to reach the end of a long, long day

**Hank**

The mansion materializes out of vapor.  That's how it seems.  Actually, of course, they are the ones materializing out of vapor.  Hank wonders how it works and whether the Professor will let him study Azazel, or if he'll send him away.

Angel and Shaw's men look up at the mansion.

"Wow," says Angel.

"Sweet digs," says Riptide.

"Don't get comfortable," says Alex.

Riptide gives him an eerie smile.  Hank doesn't like this, he doesn't like it, he wishes the Professor and Mr Lehnsherr were here.  Except the Professor can't be.  God, this is fucked up.

They approach the house, the two groups slightly separate.   

"I'm gonna sleep for a week," says Sean.

Alex whispers, "Don't wimp out.  We're not done fighting yet."

Hank looks at him sharply.  God, no.  Can't it just be over?  But he knows Alex is right.  "You mean those guys?" he asks.

"Yup.  We gotta be ready for them."

Hank's guts twist.  All he wants is to crawl away somewhere and forget the last 24 hours.  Just lock himself in his lab and get started on an antidote.

They enter the house, walk into the first living-room by the door.  Hank shies away from the ornate mirror above the fireplace, a blue blur as he turns away.  He goes to the window but he can see reflected fur there too, so he just stands facing the wall.  

The Professor.  He would be all right.  He had to be.  Or Hank would make something.  A device to pass on brain signals, just electronic pulses really, shouldn't be so hard, especially after his work with Cerebro.  He could ...  God, he could make it worse.  He shakes his head in misery.

"This place is fantastic," says Angel.  "Look at this stuff.  Who knew the Professor was loaded?"

Alex says.  "One of the outbuildings is a guest cottage."  Hank turns round and sees Alex squared up to the newcomers, Sean at his back.  He moves to Alex's other shoulder as Alex says, "You guys can stay there until Mr Lehnsherr comes."

"And the Professor," mumbles Sean.

Alex ignores him.  "He'll decide what to do with you."

"What to _do_ with us?" says Angel.

"Yeah.  Being as how you're scum-sucking, treacherous murderers who tried to blow up the world."

Azazel grins and lands his behind on a couch.

Riptide laughs softly.  "Damn.  Mutant Boy Scouts of America.  I bet you still believe in Santa too.  Who do you think Lehnsherr is?  Superman?  Truth, Justice and the almighty American Way?  Do you even know why he killed Shaw?"

"To stop him..."

"Revenge.  Lehnsherr was after him because Shaw killed his mother and tortured him to draw out his powers.  Pure revenge, eighteen years cold."

The boys are struck dumb.

"You heard what he said on the beach.  You saw what he tried to do.  He believes exactly the same as Shaw.  There will be war and we are gonna crush the humans into the ground and drown them in their blood.  All Lehnsherr will 'do with us' when he gets here, is take over where Shaw left off."

Hank says, "That's ...  that's not ...  he's not ..."

Alex says, "Get out."

"Nah," says Azazel.  "This is a nice place.  Shaw promised us palaces.  Since you took that from us, we'll take this in payment."

"You got ten seconds to get your asses out of the Professor's home or we're gonna have to kick 'em.  Again.  Twice in one day, boys.  You like that kind of punishment?"

Hank wonders how Alex can be so cool.  His own guts are twisting and instincts are clashing inside, fear, rage, grief, all driving away thought.  The beast is striving to howl.  Hank clenches his teeth.

Riptide and Azazel aren't moved by Alex's threats.  Azazel says, "Heh.  You had Lehnsherr and Xavier on the beach.  This time you're all alone."

"We can take a couple of assboys any day of the week."  That twists their smiles into snarls.  "Did Shaw use to spank you every time you were good?  Now he's gone, you're looking for a new source of pain?"

"Oh, you need to stop right now, boy."

Angel breaks in, "You all need to stop."  She turns to Alex.  "Do you understand what happened today?  The Russians and our own government tried to kill us.  ALL of us.  We have to stick together.  That's what Mr Lehnsherr wants us to do.  Because They.  Want.  Us.  Dead.  We _gotta_ stand together."

Alex takes a step towards her.  "Don't you dare talk about standing together.  You left us.  They _slaughtered_ their way into the facility and you went with them.  Darwin tried to save you -"

"I didn't need..."

"- and Shaw killed him.  Turned him to _dust_."

"I'm sorry about Darwin!  I didn't ask for a rescue.  You heard those soldiers, you know what they thought of us.  Shaw ..."

"So what? Assholes get the death penalty now?"

They are in each other's faces.  Hank becomes aware of Sean taking deeper and deeper breaths.  Riptide's hair and clothes are rippling, his fingers shifting back and forth.  And both Alex's forefingers are pointing down towards his feet.

"Shaw was gonna make us kings.  Put us on top.  Not have to put up with all the shit anymore."

"By killing everyone?!  That's worth it to you?"

"They deserve..."

" _DAR-WIN'S DEAD!_   Did _he_ deserve it?  _GET_.  _OUT."_ Power coalesces around him and Angel is knocked back.  Hank and Sean drop by Alex's feet below his power.  Wind lashes around the room, tumbling furniture.  It buffets Alex but Hank has him anchored.  Azazel disappears.  "Now!"

Alex and Sean let loose at the same time.  Hank is glad he's already on the floor.  Raw energy and sonic rage fill the room, burning, blasting fire and shattering, pummeling scream.  Hank peers up and sees Azazel catch the full force of their power as he reappears, sword raised, behind Alex.  He hears a crash and looks round to see Riptide lying in the fireplace, mirror-glass scattering all around him.  The furniture is overturned and broken.  Fire criss-crosses the walls and the furniture.  The curtains are going up fast, and the upholstery.  Glass shards are everywhere.

Shock and silence.  Hank spins up into a crouch.  The three young men are planted in the middle of the room, their three enemies scattered in the debris.  Angel is half hidden beneath a fallen, burning couch.  Riptide is unconscious in the fireplace, burns on his face and his clothes smouldering.  Azazel is shaking his head over and over and crawling away from the growing fire.  

Then Alex and Sean both take deep breaths.  Alex raises his power again.  Red radiance ripples across them all as he spins it faster.  Azazel looks up.

"Want to try that again?" asks Alex.  His voice sounds far off and distorted.

Azazel crouches away.  Suddenly he leaps across the room towards Riptide.  Hank bounds forward.  Azazel touches Riptide and they both disappear.  Alex, Hank and Sean all look around but the two men don't reappear.   

Alex drops his power.  Sean slowly lets out his breath.  Hank relaxes.  Then they realise the room is on fire and getting worse.   

Hank shoves the couch off Angel and picks her up.  They get out of the room, leave Angel against a wall and run around fetching the fire extinguishers.  Hank blesses Mr Lehnsherr for getting in a large supply when they realised what Alex's powers could do.  They try to get the fire under control but the wind from the broken windows keeps fanning the flames and Hank is afraid the fire will start to spread to the adjacent rooms.  He shouts, "We should call the fire department."

"Not yet," shouts Alex.  Hank can tell he's shouting but he can barely hear him over the fire and his own half-deafness.  "We can get this."

"We have to.  It's getting worse."

"Cops.  They'll think we did it."

"We did," shouts Sean.

"We got no proof we're meant to be here.  We'll be done for arson.  I will, again.  I'm not going back to prison."

In the end, Hank remembers the bathroom above them.  The floor is wooden and smoke is already seeping through.  He smashes at it with an axe, the job easier than he imagined.  In fact, he seems stronger than he has ever been.  Maybe it's the adrenaline.  He turns all the taps on full and, in a tizzy, gets in to the free-standing tub so it will overflow.  His fur soaks and the water isn't fast enough.  

Panicking now, he tries to get up, falls out, wrenches at the tub and to his surprise, it groans with the noise of metal straining.  He stares and then pulls with all his strength.  The tub comes free of the pipes and water begins to spew across the floor and down the hole.  He reaches under the sink and twists and bangs at the pipes until they break too.  Lots of water is now flooding through.  Hank is trying to work out how to get at the pipes for the toilet when the floor begins to creak.

He gets out, returns to the others.  "Is it helping?"

"A little.  We used brooms to shove the furniture under the hole."

"Where are the brooms?"

"Burning."

Eventually they beat the fire.  They slump down against the wall, exhausted.  There is a creaking sound from above.  Hank raises his eyes.  The timber is sagging around the leaking hole in the ceiling.

"Oh, that can't be good," says Sean.

The ceiling groans again and Hank shields his face, squeezes his eyes shut as it collapses.  A huge crash shakes the floor, and he feels water and debris spatter him.  He risks a look.

"Wow," says Alex.

The tub has plunged through the ceiling and now rests at an angle on the pile of half-burnt furniture.  Water is pouring into it from above and will soon spill into the shambles all around.

They stare for a while.

"I think I need to switch off the mains," says Hank.

"Good call," says Alex.

Hank returns after a few minutes and finds the others right where he left them.

Eventually, Sean says, "I guess they're not coming back."

"Who?" asks Hank.

"The creeps."

"Oh.  God, I hope not.  Maybe we should barricade ourselves in the bunker, in case they've been biding their time."

"Naw," says Alex.  "Let's barricade ourselves in the kitchen."

Hank and Sean are in awe of his wisdom and readily go along with it.  Hank carries a groggy Angel, Sean collects all the first aid supplies and they sit at the kitchen table, trading off first aid duties and eating ice cream, the cool tubs pressed against their burns that are starting to throb.  Angel is put in a carver chair while Hank tends to her.  She is dizzy and confused, and Hank worries about her.

"I don't know why," says Alex.  "She's a backstabbing bitch."

"She was scared."

"We all were.  She betrayed us.  She betrayed the Professor.  As far as I care, she can rot.  Why don't you do something really useful and get us some ice packs?"

Hank patiently finishes attending to Angel before acceding to Alex.  After using all the ice, he looks over at the other two and then pulls three beers out of the fridge.   "We earned them."

"Amen," say the others and they all clink their bottles.

They swallow.  Sean splutters and coughs.  "What is that?"

Alex smirks and leans back.  "You've never drunk beer before?"

"I've tried my Dad's Guinness and whiskey."

"This is good American beer, a man's drink."

Hank rolls his eyes.  "No-one likes it when they first try it.  You just keep drinking it anyway."

"Why?"

"'Cause everyone else does and says you should too."

Sean nods.  "I think the Professor would say that's what's wrong with the world."

"Yeah.  But who's beer do you think this is?"

Sean takes another sip and makes a face.

Alex says to Hank, "No offense but you smell of burning fur.  Yeuch."

Hank growls at him and then feels awful.  What is wrong with him?  This is what he's 'meant to be'?  He has to find a cure.    He wiggles a finger idly in his ear.  "I think my hearing's coming back," he mumbles.

Sean says, "I think some of that stuff was antique.  Do you think the Professor will be mad?"

"He didn't seem to be mad with Mr Lehnsherr and Agent MacTaggert," answers Alex, "and they shot him.  Besides, we didn't have a choice.  You wanted to share air with those freaks?"  

Hank flinches at the word.  The other two don't seem to notice, too intent on their beers.

"No.  And it's not like we destroyed the whole house," says Sean.

"Right.  Most of it is fine."

"It's a huge building," agrees Hank.  "We only damaged maybe, 2, 3 per cent."

"Right."

"Right."

Hank swivels his beer.   "I hope the Professor's OK," he says.   "I wonder if they'll call."

"I think I heard the phone a while back," offers Sean.

"He's sure to be OK,"  declares Alex.  "They got him to the hospital fast."

"I don't know."  Hank scratches at his beer label.   "Spine injuries are bad."

"Yeah, but..."  Alex sighs.    "God, our first time out.  Makes you wonder."

"Wonder what?" says Sean

"Well, whether we wouldn't be better just keeping our heads down and, you know, just not using our powers.  Just ...  .   We tried to save people and look what happened.  What road are we going down?  What do we do next?"

The other two are quiet.  His words resound around Hank.  If he hadn't met the Professor, if he hadn't met Raven, if he had denied the Professor's allegation.  He buries his face in his hands, hates the sensation of fur, throws his head back and takes a deep breath.   In, out.   Don't lose it in front of Alex.

Then Sean says, "I don't know what happens next but I'm not giving up the skies.  The Professor taught me to fly.  There's just nothing that ...  it's ...  I can't explain it.  You can't get it, unless you've done it."

"Hey, I was dangling under you there."

"Yeah, that was cool."  They grin at each other.  "We kicked butt today, guys."

"We were outstanding."

"Pre-eminent," says Hank with a little smile.

"Magnificent," says Sean.

"Supreme," says Alex.

"Superlative."

"Unbeatable."

"Fantastic."

"Splendiferous."

"Splendiferous?!"  And then they are hysterical, laughing and sobbing, overwhelmed while their ice cream melts.

As they run out of steam, Sean picks up his beer again.  He stares at it and says, "Do you think they were right?"

The other two are silent just too long.

"About what?" asks Hank.

Sean waves his bottle vaguely.  "Anything.  War.  Mr Lehnsherr.  About us."

"Us?"

"Are we that naive?"

The other two are silent again.

"I mean ...  they fired missiles at us, guys.  Looked like a hundred missiles.  Our own people.  I mean, the Russians, yeah, but ...  our guys?  We just stopped a nuclear war and they ...  they tried to kill us.  We didn't do anything to them and they ...  they think we're so ...  wrong ...  so freakish that ...  they wanted to just wipe us out.    Like you said, it makes you think."

After a while Hank says, "We scared them.  They didn't know it was us and the Professor made someone blow up a ship.  Mr Lehnsherr picked up a submarine.  We fought with fire and flying and we ...  we just scared them.  The Professor believes we can live together.  And I ...  believe in the Professor."  He looks down.

"Mr Lehnsherr doesn't believe it," says Sean.

"No," says Alex, "but that doesn't mean he'd do what Shaw did.  And about the missiles, he was pissed off.  I was too.  I would have ...  .   I don't know, if I had his powers, I don't know what I'd have done."

"Yeah.  I saw those missiles and I thought, 'after all that, after we beat the bad guys, now we're gonna die'.   I gotta say, maybe Mr Lehnsherr was right and maybe the Professor will change his mind now."

Hank says, "The Professor will never choose a war if he can avoid it.  He's a scientist.  He wants to spend his life discovering, not fighting.  And he wants us, all mutants, to be something new and good.  Something great.  Not the same old, broken-down story over and over."

Alex says, "Maybe Shaw and Mr Lehnsherr are right.  But if it means I have to be a killer, a ...  a ...  a butcher?  If following them means wiping out people by their hundreds or thousands, I won't do it.  I'd honestly rather die.  And if a war comes, I'll fight.  But I won't start it.  And I'll try to stop it before it does.  That's all."

The other two nod and they all raise their bottles.

"To peace," says Sean.

"To the professor," says Hank.

"To finishing each day able to look at yourself in the mirror," says Alex.

They chink their bottles and drink.  Sean only grimaces a little.

They sit quiet for a while.  The sound of rain begins and a few drops run down the windows.  It is peaceful until Sean's stomach gives a long growl with little gurgles and bubbles to ornament it.  They all giggle.  Sean holds up his bottle, "To hot dogs," he says.

"To hot dogs," agrees Alex.

Hank twists his fingers and looks away.  He sees that Angel has gone to sleep.  He goes over and shakes her.  She murmurs and doesn't wake.  "Guys, I think you should take her to a hospital.  I think she has concussion."

Alex and Sean regard Angel.  Alex sighs.  "I guess."

"We can get hot dogs at the same time," suggests Sean.

"We can leave her there," says Alex.  "Be a good place to ditch her."

"No," says Hank.

"Damn it, geek, why not?"

Hank flinches.  Every time he hears 'geek' now, it seems overlaid with 'freak'.

"We can't do that, Alex," says Sean.  "She'll have nowhere to go.  She doesn't know where this is and she can't go back to her old life.   The government will be looking for her.  We have to look out for her.  We have to look out for all mutants even if we don't like them or they don't want it.  Like cops.  You gotta be for everyone."

Alex sighs and runs a hand through his hair.  "OK.  You're right."  He chugs back his beer and gets up.  "Let's go.  We'll borrow a car."

Hank picks Angel up and carries her after the other two to the garage.  He puts her in the back seat and stands back.  "Get them to check you guys out at the same time."

"Sure."

"Will you be OK?" asks Sean.

"Yeah.  Yeah, you know, I'll ..."  Hank casts around and shrugs.  "I'll tidy up a bit and maybe ...  maybe I'll start trying to figure out where I went wrong."  He looks down at himself and rubs at his arms.

Sean looks at him a moment then awkwardly pats his arm.  "You're a smart guy.  You'll find a way to reverse it.  You did it so you'll figure out how to undo it.  Maybe it won't be permanent, anyway.  You might change back."  He brightens.  "Or maybe, 'cause it came from Raven, you'll be able to shapeshift.  That would be cool."

"Yeah," says Alex, "and, if worst comes to the worst, it's just fur, right?  You can always shave."

Hank feels himself smile, then laughs.  He nods.  "Bring me some hot dogs, OK?"

"We will,"  says Alex.  He looks serious again.  "And if there's more trouble, don't stay here.  Cut out.  We'll meet up at the Presbyterian.  Can you make that?"

"Yeah, I'll make it.  I like cheese and chili on my hot dogs."

"Aargh." Alex slaps a hand over his face and gets into the car.  "He likes chili."

Hank grins.  "Drive safe."  He waves.

The other two wave as they leave.  Hank turns back to the house, feeling lighter.  He has things to do, projects to work on, floors and bathrooms to fix.  He can build a super-telepathy computer and an advanced aeroplane, he can damn well fix a bathroom.  And maybe he'll look out some hair clippers at the same time.

\---------------

They return after night fall, with hot dogs, bandages and long lists of doctors' instructions about concussions and burns.  Hank has cleaned out the living-room and fixed the bathroom pipes.  Lacking lumber, the bathroom floor's going to have to stay as it is.  Though, this being a mansion, one bathroom out of order is not a problem.

They eat the hot dogs in the kitchen.  Angel is a little less groggy but doesn't take more than a few bites before laying her head on the table.  Hank, Sean and Alex are feeling good but fading fast.  They each look as though they've developed a twitch, snapping their heads back up every few seconds to take another nibble.  Hank's eyes slide closed again.  When they open, the chair at the end of the table holds Mr Lehnsherr.  Hank shouts.  The other two jump.  Sean's yowl makes them all flinch.  Alex's powers flash but, thank God, they don't go off; Hank couldn't bear it if the kitchen went up too.  Angel just lifts her head muzzily and drops it again.

Mr Lehnsherr says with interest, "What happened?"

"I don't know," says Alex, "how'd you do that?"

"Is Azazel with you?" says Hank.  The other two sit up straighter.

"No.  I thought he was here.  What happened?  I won't ask again."

"We kicked their butts," says Alex.

"We had a ...  confrontation," says Hank.  He exchanges glances with Sean, wondering how this is going to play.  "Alex and Sean let loose.  Shaw's guys got battered and vanished.  Teleported.  They left Angel behind."

"So Hank said we had to keep her," says Alex.

"And me," says Sean.

Mr Lehnsherr nods, enlightened.  He asks pleasantly, "And why did you have this confrontation?"

They exchange looks again and Alex and Sean nod to each other and to Hank.  Alex isn't making any gestures and Hank hopes there isn't some secret plan between Sean and Alex that will leave them fighting Mr Lehnsherr.  He's 99% sure that wouldn't go as well as their last battle.

Alex says, "We won't work with them.  We won't be murderers.  If it comes to it, if you're right about war then we'll be soldiers.  But that's our last choice.  We want to be more like cops."

Hank says, "Um..."

"Hank mostly wants to be a scientist and sometimes a cop.  Me and Sean want to be like cops."

"Yeah," says Sean, "you know, patrolling the borders between mutants and humans? Going after the bad guys on both sides and protecting the innocent."

"Even if they're assholes."

"Yeah, even if."

Mr Lehnsherr has been listening with a little smile that does nothing to make Hank feel calm.

"If that's not what you're looking for," continues Alex and his voice seems a bit husky, "then you'd better go find the creeps and we'll wait for the Professor."  He swallows.

Mr Lehnsherr is still.  Hank is getting freaked out and he can feel a need rising in him to run or pounce.  While Hank personally would opt for run, the beast is shaking its chains and howling its desire to fight.

"Fine," says Mr Lehnsherr.  They all let out a breath.  "Get your belongings.  We're going to find somewhere else to lie low until Charles can be moved."  He gets up.

"What?  What's wrong with here?" says Alex.

"I can fix the rooms," says Hank, "I just need some lumber and glass and..."

"If the CIA are worth anything, they know Charles owns this place.  They will look for us here.  Soon.  You have ten minutes to pack anything you want, then meet me in the garage."

"Ten minutes?" says Hank.  "I can't pack all my equipment ..."

Mr Lehnsherr speaks over him, "We'll get more; most of it's broken, anyway."

"Oh.  Right."

"Bring or destroy all your research and notes."  He turns to leave.

"Wait," says Hank, "where else can I go?  Look at me."

Mr Lehnsherr turns back.   He evaluates Hank with narrowed eyes.  "Tonight we can sneak you into a hotel.  You may have to stay there a few days until we can find a proper safehouse."

"Yeah, and we can try that shaving thing," says Sean.

Mr Lehnsherr looks pained.  "It maybe necessary for now.  I'm sorry."

"I'm not." says Hank.  "If I look OK under this, I'm shaving everyday."

"You shouldn't be ashamed of what you are."

Hank's anger breaks.  "Says the man who looks normal," he roars.  "Don't tell me how to feel about _this."_

"We don't have time to talk about it now.  We will."  Mr Lehnsherr leaves.  Alex shrugs and follows.

Hank is struggling to crush his anger.  His fist hits the table.  The other end flies up and Angel is thrown backwards.  Sean just catches her in time.  Hank is horrified, one hand outstretched.

Sean turns to him.  "Be mad later.  You've got ten minutes.  I'll help you.  I've got next to nothing here."

Hank nods, "Thanks." 

It takes them less than two minutes to fill their personal bags.  They hand them off to Alex and rush to the lab.  Hank had forgotten what a mess he left.  He stares for a second but Sean snaps fingers in front of his eyes.  "Tell me what to get," he says.

At ten minutes, they are stuffing equipment into any container they can find.  From down the hall, Mr Lehnsherr yells, "Time's up.  Move."

Hank wishes he had the courage to stay but Sean heads straight for the door and Hank follows.  At the door of the lab he looks back at the mess, at the half-built ideas, at the place where he had hope and horror.  He doesn't know when he'll next see a lab.  Was it just 24 hours ago that he had hope of being normal?  Was it just 12 hours ago they were all fine?  The night seems so dark now.  Hank keens softly and leaves.

In the garage, Alex is piling bags into two cars.  Mr Lehnsherr enters, carrying Angel, three bags over his shoulder.  Alex says to him, "I got no idea what Raven will want but it turns out the only clothes she has are panties."  The others pause.  "Really.  So I just threw in a bunch of stuff that looked useful or pretty."

"Fine."  Mr Lehnsherr lays Angel in the back seat of one car and tosses bags to Alex.  He looks at Hank, "Did you deal with your research?"

"The notes are all in my head.  Everything else is either with us or broken.  What about the Professor's stuff?"

"Got it."

"What about Agent MacTaggert's?" asks Alex.

"Don't care," says Mr Lehnsherr and shuts all the car doors, leaving the cars empty but for Angel and the bags.  He puts out the lights and opens the garage doors.  "Head out across country.  We can get into the cars when we hit the main road two miles away."

"What about the cars?"

Mr Lehnsherr stands between the cars, reaches out with both hands and raises them.  He walks out of the garage.   Once outside, he raises them higher.  Now he is walking with a car balanced above each hand.  The younger men look on in awe.  Then they rush after him.

\---------------

It's easy for Hank to sneak into the dingy hotel.  They have three twin bed rooms.   One is for Angel and Raven.  Mr Lehnsherr instructs them stay with Angel until he returns with Raven.  When he leaves, they fight over who has to share a bedroom with him.  Although Alex makes a good case for Sean being the one because his power is quick to access and might be effective against a master of magnetism, in the end, Sean and Hank gang up and force Alex to do it.

Sean shrugs when Alex protests.  "You already stood up to him once tonight -"

"The beast's the one who yelled at him."

Hank flinches.

"- and you've been in the Big House.  So you can handle tough guys."

"I was in solitary."

"And he never pushed you off a satellite dish."

Alex tries to find an objection to that and fails.

"Besides," says Hank, "I don't want to spend the evening discussing how happy I ought to be about ...  turning into a monster."

The others look at him.

"You're not a monster," says Sean.

"Can you think of another word for me?"

"Fuzzy."

Hank huffs a laugh.

An hour later, the door opens and their companions walk in.

"How's the Professor?" they all ask.

"Sleeping," says Raven.  "They say that's best for him right now.  They won't know for sure the extent of the damage until the swelling goes down.  The neurosurgeon said that he's hopeful.  That there's not too much damage.  We got him there in time to stop it getting much worse."

They all murmur sympathies and then, at last, it's time to sleep.


	5. Wherein Charles and Erik have a conversation

**Charles**

Charles feels other minds in pain and fear and despair.  They are too much for him to accept and he retreats back into the darkness.

\---------------

Someone is calling him.  He doesn't want to answer, the other minds are still dispensing their misery and he can't deal with them.  She doesn't care.  She is insistent.  She is strong and bright and she is projecting to him love, caring, patience and worry.  Raven.  She is his sister.  And she is worried.  That's what makes him brave the mire of unhappy minds to reach out to her.

 _Raven?_

 _Charles!_ Joy shines.  _You had us worried there.  You've been asleep so long.  Time to wake up, sleepy-head._

 _Can't.  Too much pain._

 _You're in pain?_

 _Other minds._

 _Shut them out._

He's sure he knows how to do that but it just won't come.  Their feelings are becoming clearer now as he drifts closer to Raven, so many of them screaming or begging or mumbling their desire for help, someone, God, please, make it stop, make me well; all needing relief from pain and sickness.  He can't block them.  Too much.  He starts to withdraw again.

 _Charles!  Don't go.  You need to wake up._ Her attention turns from him.  _The other patients, it's too much for him.  He hasn't got any control._

He wants to stay with her, wants to comfort her.  If only he could shut out the others.  He tries but he can't hold the barriers.  They slip, they leak, he can't...

Then it all disappears.

He hasn't withdrawn.  He is still aware, but Raven and the other minds have vanished.  He thinks that it ought to be a horrible sensation, to be alone in his head, but just now it is a blessing.

He floats peacefully for a while then makes an effort to open his eyes.  Everything is shades of grey.  He sees blurs, feels dazed.  He tries to focus.

"Raven?" he whispers.

"I'm here."  He feels her hands on his.

"Don't worry."

"It's a little late for that.  But now you're awake, I can stop."

Charles hears a sound.  He places it after a moment - a door closing.  He squints at the blur next to him.  Raven's blonde form comes vaguely into focus.  He squeezes her hand.  "Where the hell I am?"

"New York Presbyterian Hospital.  Intensive care."

"I hate hospitals."

"I know, but we didn't have a choice.  Do you remember?"

Charles struggles to think.  Hospital.  He must have been injured somehow.  What happened yesterday?

Then, in a rush like a flashflood, he remembers.

"The others?" he asks.

"Safe."

He nods.  It feels odd.  He relaxes for a moment, tries to sort out what should come next.  He reaches out for Raven's mind, simply for the comfort of her presence.  Nothing.  He pushes but nothing happens.  He is scared.  Were his powers affected?  He doesn't remember damage to his head.  His legs, yes, ...

His legs.  He still can't feel them.  He moves a hand down, pats his thighs.  They are there.  But no feeling comes from them.  He looks down, tries to move them.  Nothing.  Raven takes his hand, squeezes it.  He looks at her, tries a weak smile but suspects he doesn't manage even that.

The door opens again.  He looks and sees two human figures.  His vision seems incomplete, though, and he tries to force his eyes to work.

A vaguely familiar voice says, "Do I want to know why he's wearing your helmet?"

"No," says a very familiar voice.

"Erik?"

"Charles.  This is Dr Michaels.  He examined you yesterday."

"Hello, Mr Xavier..."

"Professor," says Raven, "he's a Professor of Genetics at Oxford."

"I'm sorry.  Professor Xavier.  Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

"Muzzy.  My vision's improving.  I feel heavy."

"Mm, that's the anaesthetic."  A light shines in his eyes and he blinks.  "Anything else?"

Charles swallows, looks at the ceiling.  "I still can't feel my legs."

"Well, that might improve.  We'll give it a few days.  The treatment went well.  Dr Benz was able to stop almost all of the swelling, keep your blood pressure down and stabilise your spine.  You should have pretty good function, all things considered.  I'm going to send a nurse in with some medications and Dr Benz will be down in a while to talk to you.  Just rest, have a little bit to eat and drink.  Maybe lose the helmet."

Charles thinks for a moment, and realises why they put it on him.  "For now, the helmet stays."

There is a pause.  "OK.  Well, call if you feel any pain, any returning feeling.  I'll be back in a few hours."

"Thank you, doctor."  Charles' sight is pretty much back by now.  He watches the stocky, bespectacled man go to the door.

"Fine, fine."  The doctor pauses at the door.  He looks at the three of them.  "Don't do anything weird, OK?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," says Charles.

The doctor nods disbelief and leaves.

Once he is gone,  Charles takes a moment to look down at himself.  There are various tubes around the place and a needle in each hand.  He tries not to think about it, nothing he can do but tell his body to heal and hope it listens.  He turns to the others and says, "Anything interesting happen while I was unconscious?"

Once they have told him everything, he focuses on Erik.  "You drugged her and tied her to the bed?"  

Erik nods, looking rather pleased with himself.  

Charles looks at him a moment then says,  "Because she'll either have to turn us in or be arrested for treason.  This way, she has deniability."

"I'm really not concerned about the deniability.  Anyway, they'll find her eventually.  The room's only taken for one night."  He leans forward.  "She's no part of this anymore.  We can't be sure of her loyalties."

"I suppose it's not fair to make her choose."  Charles is saddened to lose Moira but how can they maintain links with the US government now?  "The others aren't badly hurt?"

"They're fine."

Raven says, "The worst thing they're going to suffer from is boredom."

"How's Hank feeling? And Angel?"

"They're fine.  Don't worry.  Why don't you get some rest?"

"You're the one who woke me up."

"And now I'm saying rest."

Erik says, "We'll keep watch.  I'll take the first shift."  He leaves.

A nurse comes in with some pills and food.  Charles is ravenous, so for a while he and Raven don't talk.  When he has finished, Charles sighs and looks at the ceiling.  "I got it so wrong."

"What?"

"On the beach.  I said exactly the wrong things.  I thought I knew everything about him."  He looked at her  "How could I know everything and say it all wrong?"

Raven shrugs.  "Because you know things about people, but you don't always understand what you know."

"Really?"

"You've done it to me."

"I have?  I'm sorry."

"It's OK.  It gets frustrating, but I hear brothers and sisters are meant to drive each other crazy sometimes."

They share a smile.

"I think it's most frustrating because you think so deeply about your studies, about genetics and evolution, but you don't seem to think about people.  About what you know about them.  It's like the fact is everything.  You wouldn't do that in your work, you're always trying to figure out the reasons and the corollaries and whatnot.  Maybe you're not so interested in people or maybe you assume you know them because you can read their minds.  But that doesn't hold.  You've told me yourself that people are so much more complicated than what you get from a simple reading.

"Erik is complicated."  She sighs.  "I don't want to have to choose between you.  Between what he's offering and what you're planning.  I want us all to stay together.  But it's not going to happen if you can't accept who he is, not who you want him to be.  Because that's the only way you'll figure out how to reach him.  So, if you want to understand Erik, think about what you know.  If you want to persuade him to try another way, think about what kind of arguments hold weight with him.  Give a little.  Then we can all be together."

Charles nods slowly then squints at Raven through the opening of the helmet.  "Do I deserve you?"

She smiles and takes his hand.  "No."  She kisses him on the nose.  "But then, I don't think I've ever met anyone else who would have simply accepted me the way you did.  So, maybe yes."  She lays her head down on their hands and tries to catch up on sleep.  Charles thinks about Erik.

\---------------

When Erik returns, Charles has abandoned all ethical and philosophical arguments.  He has two new tacks : personal and practical.

Raven takes on a male form and goes to take her turn on watch.

"I've never seen her become male before."

"She doesn't do it very often.  She prefers remaining female.  She can't do a full male form anyway."

"No?"

Charles waves vaguely at his crotch.  "She can't create the necessary equipment.  Her own is permanent."

"Ah.  Some people would pay a lot for a combination like that."

That is far beyond Charles' experience.  His mind blanks at the thought.  He gapes at Erik who smiles brightly and says, "Chess?"

Charles blinks.  "Certainly."

Erik produces their chess set.  

"How are you, by the way?"

"Fine," says Erik, surprised.

"No, I mean," Charles studies his hands, "after Shaw.  Now you've done what you needed..."  He glances at Erik.

"Fine, Charles.  Thank you."

"Good."

Erik gestures at the helmet.  "Do you still need that?"

"No, probably not.  I want you to be sure I'm not using my abilities against you.  Would you prefer to wear it yourself?"

Erik looks shocked and then narrows his eyes.  "Have you've been cheating at chess all this time?  Because that makes the times you've lost a truly pathetic performance."

"No, I'm not talking about chess."  Charles sits himself upright.  "I want to persuade you not to go to war."

Erik shakes his head.  "My course is set."  He leans forward.  "You saw absolute proof of what they will do to us.  You cannot expect me to lie down and let them slaughter us all."

"No.  No, I don't."  Charles takes a deep breath.  "I was wrong.  I thought if we stopped a war, they would accept us.  I was shocked by those missiles and I see I was naive to think acceptance would be so simple.  I was wrong."

Erik stares for a moment then hisses, "So why did you stop me?"

"Two reasons.  One, because that's who I am.  The time and place where I was raised had strong rules against killing people.  And I think I would have trouble with it anyway.  I cannot easily stand aside if I can save someone's life, even an enemy's.  I'm not saying I'd never kill or allow an enemy to die but a part of me would always suffer with the act.  I would not be who I am if I had let you kill them.  And I don't intend to change."

"But you know now you're wrong."

"Yes, there's no need to belabor the point."

"That you're wrong?"  There is a smile in Erik's eyes and voice.

"Yes.  That."

Erik sits back.  "Was it hard to say?"

"Of course it was bloody hard to say.  How would you like to do it?  Speaking of which, my second reason for stopping you - you were also wrong.  Perhaps war is inevitable; but starting it then and there would have been absurdly reckless.  You acted on feeling not thought and that is the work of a fool."

Erik looks surprised at the rebuke and stares at Charles for several seconds.  Then he stares into space.  Charles feels distinctly uncomfortable at his inability to reach out for what Erik is feeling.  Is he so used to using his abilities to read people that he has diminished sensitivity to body language and expressions?  That he can't work out what another person is thinking? Perhaps Raven is right.  Or is Erik that inscrutable?  After several minutes, Erik takes a breath.  "I accept that.  I was wrong.  Please tell me neither of us has to say that again."

"We should try to avoid it.  It saps the ego something fierce."

"True."  Erik relaxes, looks at the board and mentally advances a pawn.  "Will you let me take the helmet off you?"

"Are you sure?"

"I trust you."

Their eyes hold, then Charles says, "Please do."  He lifts his head and steadies his shields as the helmet slides off.  The murmur of minds returns but they do not disturb him except for inducing a faint melancholy.  He makes an effort to brush that off, concentrating instead on the pleasure of feeling the presence of Erik's mind again.  He likes the shape and the feel of Erik's mind, when it isn't soured by vengeance and hate.  Even when it's seething, he doesn't want to withdraw from its touch, just to soothe it, bring it peace and happiness.  He isn't sure he has ever felt true happiness in Erik.  Satisfaction and pleasure, yes ...

"Charles!"  

Charles realises it isn't the first time Erik has said his name.  "Sorry."

Erik looks concerned.  "Is it too difficult?"

"Oh no, no.  In fact, I was just, ah, enjoying the awareness of other minds again.  Being without that, I felt as though I'd lost one of my senses."

"You had."

"Yes.  Though I suppose that must be how it is for everyone else.  Seeing and hearing each other but still not truly ...  knowing.  Not feeling the other person's ...  presence? Is that the word?"

"Probably not.  No-one else has ever needed the word.  But I do know what you mean.  I can feel the energy around other people's bodies, if they're close enough."

"I didn't know that."  Charles tries to sit up, falls back, continues with enthusiasm.  "Is it some kind of magnetism?  Stupid question, electromagnetism.  You have awareness of the electromagnetic spectrum?  Can you manipulate it?  The potential applications ..."

Erik holds up a hand.  "Charles."

"Sorry.  There's not much we can do about it at the moment, anyway.  When we're set up again, though, we can..."

"Charles."

Charles looks at him.  "Give me a chance to persuade you to stay."

"Let me persuade you to come with me."

"We're not talking about location, are we?  Enter the ideologies into the lists, drawn up for battle.  You already have a helmet.  I'm sure you can easily form a sword and shield.  But no need, my ideologies have lain down their arms.  They are pacifists, after all.  I don't believe they have a single tool between them that could breach your armour.  And perhaps they would even be in danger of being wounded.  Not dying, you understand, but condemned to live bleeding."

"Lovely metaphor."

"Thank you."

"So you're not going to try to persuade me?"

"I didn't say that."  Charles moves a pawn of his own.  "You will not lie down and watch mutants being slaughtered because you had to watch that once before and now you are powerful you won't let it happen again.  Correct?"

"Of course."

"Of course."  He looks at Erik, waits until Erik's eyes meet his.  "Do you really believe that I _would_ allow it to happen?"

"Not intentionally.  You'll do it by clinging to your naive belief in the essential goodness of humanity.  You don't understand how people are.  You are a rich, educated, Christian, -"

"Atheist."

Erik waves it aside "- white, male heterosexual -"

"Excuse me?!"

"-apparent heterosexual in a country where such men rule.  Even if you have visited other countries, the local people would hesitate to lay hands on you, will even do their best to smooth your way.   You have never been on the receiving end of humanity's disdain for those who are different."

"Everyone's different from someone."

"Most of humanity lacks your open-minded logic.  I am afraid you'll only understand when it's too late."  Erik narrows his eyes.  "Or am I underestimating you?  After all, you haven't been hiding your abilities all this time because of your modest nature and low self-esteem."

Charles grins at him.  "No, I don't suffer that way, do I?  But for all my arrogance, I do stop short of passing judgement on an entire species."

"Do unto others before they do unto you."

"That's not the most positive basis for a new society.  But on that basis, I'd like to clarify a few points, if I may."

"By all means."  Erik moves a piece.

"You are aware that Shaw's plan was complete scientific bullshit, aren't you?"  Charles moves a piece, not really caring which.

Erik stares at the board with narrowed eyes, perhaps trying to guess what new strategy Charles is trying to employ.  In fact, Charles couldn't give a damn about the struggle on the board.

"There is no reason to suppose that mutants would survive nuclear strikes.  Or that vast quantities of radioactive dust in the air would trigger our sort of mutancies, rather than illnesses, cancers and infertiility, the latter leading to a notable lack of new mutants."

"And ultimately," says Erik, making a move, "Shaw's aim was dominion.  His subjects would merely have been mutants rather than humans.  I'm not an idiot, Charles.  I don't intend to cause a nuclear war."

"So what do you intend to do?"

Erik merely offers a blank smile.

"I'm not asking for specifics."

"I will protect mutantkind against the humans who will try to slaughter them.  When the humans bring the war, I will end it and them."

"Hm."  Charles moves a piece.  "Well, I don't doubt you could win such a war, especially if you order the time and place of it yourself.  You have great power and a sharp strategic mind.  I wouldn't say it was sure thing, though.  Humans have a great talent for savage destruction when the gloves come off, and for several decades they will have a massive advantage in numbers."

He leans forward.  "Think, Erik.  There's only a couple of thousand mutants in the world at the moment.  Even in ten years time there will only be about ten, maybe fifteen, depending on the rate of mutant births, and most of them nowhere near our level of power.  Ten thousand mutants are not enough, not to win and certainly not to rebuild some form of civilisation from the wreckage.  And bury all the bodies.  Not enough, even if you can find them, get to them, protect them.  How will you do that when they are scattered amongst three billion people the world over?  You'd need someone who was capable of searching for them, mentally perhaps.  Where could you possibly find someone like that?"

"Emma Frost?"  suggests Erik, his eyes amused and challenging.

"Oh, touché.  And then, when you find them, how will you persuade them to be your foot soldiers?  Three young men have already refused to do that, even though, by your lights, they ought to have good reason.  Their own government tried to obliterate them.  But they've had enough positive experiences with humans that they're not willing to kill so easily."

"They'll come round in time.  Their youth gives them false hope.  When they are being hunted and attacked on all sides by humans, then they will fight."

" _If_ they are hunted and attacked on all sides.  That hasn't happened yet and it still may not."

"Again, you're naive."

Charles regroups and tries again.  "I'd also like to clarify why you won't even try to prevent war in the first place?  After all, if you have peace, you can always go to war, but it's a lot harder to go from war back to peace."

"A waste of effort.  War is inevitable."

"So's death.  Shall we kill ourselves now?  I recognize that there will be mutants killed by bigoted humans.  Just as bigots kill negroes and Jews and Indians and Asians and, well, anyone who looks or speaks differently to them, and women, -"

"All you're doing -"

"- who are often raped first, and homosexuals, who sometimes get raped first, and let's not forget the Romany, -"

" - is proving my point."

\- about half a million of whom died along with the Jews in the Holocaust, as well as many disabled people ..."

They both pause.  Charles shakes it off.  "As you say, it proves your point.  However, I would venture the possibility that a war is likely to kill even more mutants than bigots alone.  Both directly and indirectly."  He takes one of Erik's pieces.

"In terms of direct deaths,"  he taps Erik's queen, "let's call this one Raven, and this one Hank," he taps a bishop.  "I'll be a knight, Sir Charles, at your service."  He looks up into Erik's ruthless gaze.

"There are sacrifices in war.  I will be saddened but I will do whatever I must to defeat our enemies."  He moves Sir Charles.

"Mm.  Another difference between you and me.  And what about all the people who aren't on the board?"

Erik looks confused.  "What?"

"The world doesn't line itself up in sixty-four squares and thirty-two pieces, all moving in simple, codified directions.  What about the people who are neither white nor black?"

"In the end, everyone comes down to one or the other."

"And you will divide them simply by human and mutant?  Do you think it might be worth letting them choose for themselves?  Sean's parents don't have a problem with what he is."

"Alex's do."  

"What if there are parents who want to fight with you to protect their children?  Will you refuse them because they are not, um, genetically superior?"

Erik doesn't answer, he simply moves Raven.  Charles mildly curses Erik's control; he doesn't think he's said anything to change Erik's mind so far.  

"So those are the direct deaths.  And you will kill many more mutants indirectly."

"I will gather them, with Ms Frost's help," he teases, "and protect them."

"I'm counting mutants caught up unwillingly as direct deaths."

Erik looks irritated.  "Then what are you talking about?"

"My parents were human.  I imagine the same is true for all of us.  If you kill all the humans, in effect you kill their children, including all the mutants who would have been born to them."

For the first time, Charles catches a hint of uncertainty from Erik.  "We will have our own children.  Mutants born of mutants."

"That would cut off a lot of genetic diversity.  Long term, you weaken yourselves."

"Not all humans would give birth to mutants."

"No.  But more and more as time goes on.  Of course, there might, I only say might, be some way, some genetic marker that would give a clue about which humans are more likely to conceive mutants."

Erik is alert.  "Is there?"

"I don't know.  You'd need a Professor of Genetics to reserch that; I wonder where you'd find one of those?  Of course there are a few of them around."

Erik looks steadily at him.  "Interesting you should say that.  I recently read an academic paper by a Professor of Genetics.  Something about homo sapiens wiping out homo neanderthalensis?"

Erik has read his dissertation.  Charles is ridiculously pleased.  He manages to strangle a grin into a sedate smile.  Besides, this is a point he can win.

"You have to be careful of those academic papers.  Some of these scholars make sweeping statements with very little proof, because it fits current wisdom.  

"The changeover from homo neanderthalensis to homo sapiens was forty thousand years ago.  We can't possibly know what really happened.  The two species might have fought.  Then again, they might have interbred.  Homo sapiens might simply have been more successful hunter-gatherers leaving less for the neanderthals, who then had fewer children while h. sapiens had more, the cycle repeats, h. neanderthalensis eventually dies out.  Basic evolution.  It's happened to other species without there being a genocidal crusade involved.  

"Of course, there's another option.  Perhaps homo neanderthalensis started giving birth to homo sapiens."

Erik pauses mid-move and looks surprised.  Charles pats himself on the back for finally cracking Erik's control.  Erik gazes vaguely at the captured pieces, clearly turning over Charles' words.  The captured pieces quietly rearrange themselves into a neat row.  He says, "If it's happening now..."

"Then maybe it happened before.  Peacefully.  But I couldn't present that possibility without evidence, I'd've been laughed out of the university."

"You have evidence."

"Not enough, even if I'd been willing to submit myself and Raven as exhibits A and B."

They are both quiet for a moment.  Erik idly puts Charles in check.  Then he shakes his head and says, "It doesn't change anything.  Whether they fought or not, what they were.  What matters is what humans are now, what will happen now.  There is ample evidence for that."

Charles is reaching the end of his argument.  He doesn't think his objections have got him very far.  All he can do now is attempt to persuade Erik of another possibility, somewhere between their two visions.  At least he may argue for a deferral of hostilities.

He says, "If you stay now, it's not a permanent decision.  If something happens and we can't agree what to do, you can leave then.  And if leaving is a mistake, you can always come back.  I can't imagine what you could do that would make me turn you away."  He focuses on the chessboard, unable to meet Erik's eyes.  He knows this helpless offer of abiding friendship doesn't help his case, can't make him strong in Erik's eyes, but he cannot mislead Erik, much less lie to him.

"That's because you've had a very sheltered life," but there was affection in Erik's voice.  "It works the same the other way.  Come with me, then leave if you must."

Charles nods slowly.  "You do believe that we want the same thing, then, that mutants should be safe and free?  We want them to be themselves openly, without fear, and be able to develop their abilities proudly."

"We do."

"We merely disagree about how that can come about."

"Yes."  Erik looks regretful.  "And I fear how long it will take you to realise you're wrong."

"OK, try this.  We find somewhere to go where we can build a new Cerebro and train.  We find mutants, bring in as many as we can, create a network.  I teach them about living in peace and using their abilities productively.  You teach them about preparing for war and using their abilities to fight.  We leave them to decide which path they want to follow.  

"We seek peace and prepare for war, as the Romans had it.  Meanwhile, we wait and see how the world treats us.  That way, whatever comes, we are ready for it.  And we stand together."

"Until we disagree our response."

" _If_ that happens, and _if_ we can't compromise," Charles shrugs, "then we each take those who will follow us."

"And will you then try to protect the humans from me?"

"I might.  And you might drag us all down in a cycle of increasing violence until we have no choice but to die or serve as your support staff."  He adds lightly, "Medics and mechanics, cooks and so on."

Charles feels some intense emotion in Erik, he catches flares of sadness, scorn, confusion, anger.  Erik leans forward, his eyes hard, and quietly asks, "Even then, you won't fight?"

Charles bows his head, gazes sadly at the chessboard.  Erik is winning.  "If, in the end, it comes to that.  If the world explodes into war and there is nowhere to run or hide.  Then, if I must, I will fight."

Erik's feelings soften.  There is friendship and pride, which makes Charles stupidly glad, and a different shade of sadness.

Charles raises his head and looks straight into Erik's eyes, letting his own determination meet that unsparing gaze, sending forth his emotions so Erik will know how firm his purpose is.  "But I won't hold anyone down while you kill them again.  Never again.  If I had let Shaw go, he would have killed you, so I held him and I paid for it.  I felt his agony as though it was my own and I screamed as he couldn't.  For the sake of myself and the sake of my soul, I cannot stay with you if you ask that again."

There is pain in Erik's eyes and sorrow offered to Charles.  "I ...  ."  Erik lowers his head, shakes it and looks back.  "I can only promise you this, that if it is in my power to prevent it, I will never make you to suffer that way again."  A pause.  "And I accept your offer.  We will walk the same path for now."

"Long may it last, my friend."  Charles holds out his hand and Erik takes it.  

Then he puts Charles into checkmate.


	6. Wherein Moira has to be strong

**Moira**

Moira is about equal measures pissed off and worried.  Waking up to find herself naked and manacled to a bed would do that to a person, especially without memories of a good time the night before.  After a bit of wriggling proves that she isn't getting free on her own, it takes two hours of shouting to get someone to realise she's in trouble.

Eventually someone knocks at the door.  "Is everything OK in there?"

Moira is hoarse but she manages to shout back, "No.  I'm tied to the bed and I can't get free."  Then she realises how that sounds and blushes hard.  "I'm a CIA agent.  Call Langley and tell them that Moira MacTaggert is here.  Then get me out."

There is no sound for a moment then the door jiggles.

"There's something wrong with the lock."

I'll just bet there is, thinks Moira.  "It's damaged.  You're going to need a crowbar or," she swallows, trying to wet her poor abused throat, " ...  a screwdriver to take it off it's hinges."

More silence then.  "I'll go get the manager."

"And Maintenance," shouts Moira.

Eventually they break down the door.  And she doesn't need telepathic powers to know what they're thinking, considering that she's tied up naked in a foreign businessman's bedroom, even if the bent metal bedstead is a weird touch.  She makes sure they know she's CIA, all done for patriotic reasons, boys, but she's still humiliated and damning Erik with every breath.

"It's kind of late," says Moira, as the maintenance men get started with hacksaws.  "Why didn't anyone come in earlier?"

The manager is hovering, very perturbed.  "There was a Do Not Disturb sign on the door."

Erik sinks lower in the circles of hell.

"Are you really CIA?"

"You did call them?"

"Yes, a man called McCone is coming.  So, you're an _agent_?

Moira sighs.  "My ID is in my pocket."

The man looks around.  The chambermaid says, "All the clothes from this room were sent to laundry this morning."

"So I have nothing at all to wear?"

"No."

That's it.  Erik is the Devil.

"Do you think you could hurry my laundry, or hunt up something, anything, vaguely respectable for me to wear?"

The chambermaid is kind-hearted.  Thank God for small mercies.

\---------------

By the time Moira is free, Director McCone has arrived.  "Where are they?" he demands, before she's even had time to get dressed.

"The hospital.  You can't go in guns blazing, there's innocent..."

"Don't tell me my job, MacTaggert!  Which hospital?"

No help for it.  "New York Presbyterian."

McCone orders an agent to pull together a squad and get in position outside Presbyterian.  Then he turns back to Moira.  "You should have told us last night.  Why was your report so vague?"

Now she is dressed, it feels easier to stand up to him.  "Because I didn't know what you would do.  Or what they would do if a squad appeared.  For some reason, they didn't take that joint missile strike well.  Lehnsherr especially seemed kinda pissed."  She shrugs.  "Strange what will irritate people, isn't it?"

McCone gives her a look but it's tempered by a certain amount of ill-tempered embarrassment.  "If it had been successful, that wouldn't be a problem."

"No, sir.  Of course, we wouldn't be having this conversation either."

"You're expendable, MacTaggert, just like any other agent."

"I accept that, sir.  But I thought it would be in the company of criminals, not heroes."

"Your definitions aren't shared by the administration and the Joint Chiefs."

"Sir, have I been an good agent?  I know you weren't happy having a female field agent, but have I done my job as well as any man, done all you could ask of me?"

He looks at her for several moments.  "And more.  Before this, I would have said you were one of my best."

"Then I want to trade my status for one question.  Why did they order that strike?  Shaw was dead, the war prevented.  Why try to kill them?  They'd done _nothing_ but what you asked of them."

"In the first place, we don't know exactly what went on there that day.  Second, you saw first-hand the sort of power they have.  A whole damn submarine dragged out of the water.  People flying and shooting fire from their bodies.  A Russian sailor blew up his own country's ship with no idea why he'd done it."

"Xavier made him do it."

"Exactly!  People that powerful can't be allowed to just run around unrestrained.  They can't work as free agents.  They almost started a war!"

" _Shaw_ almost started a war, with a fair amount of help from two bullish governments.  Our guys stopped it.  If Charles hadn't given that order, Shaw's guy would have taken the missile ship over the line.  Would you prefer to have nuclear missiles falling all around us?"

"You're out of line, agent.  You sound as though your loyalties are shifting."

"I am loyal to America and I will carry out the commands of her duly elected government."

"Good."

"But I consider that part of protecting America is giving my opinion on actions that will increase the danger to our nation, not lessen it.  So I will take the last part of good will you may have for me and say, don't piss them off any further.  You couldn't stop them with fifty ballistic missiles and I can assure you bullets are not a threat to Lehnsherr, though maybe to the people around him.  If your plan is to kill them," she swallows, shakes her head, "you won't find it easy and a lot of innocent people might get hurt in the process.  If your plan is to take them alive, I doubt they'll come.  They have no reason to trust you, and talent enough to avoid capture."

"So what is your suggestion, agent?"

"Talk to them.  I believe Xavier will talk."

"And Lehnsherr?"

"I don't know."

McCone shakes his head.  "You're one hell of an optimist, MacTaggert.  But I have to point out," he gestures to the twisted, broken bed, "they don't seem to be such fans of yours as you are of theirs."

"I was inconvenienced, not hurt."

"Stop making excuses, listen to yourself.  Have you fallen for one of them?  Charles, didn't you call him?"

Moira mentally bristles and blushes but keeps her mouth shut.

"They're not going to talk.  And neither are we.  They tried to destroy our ships out there."  Moira opens her mouth and he holds up a hand, "Yes, MacTaggert, I am capable of being fair, you know, I am aware we fired first and they just did what we would have done -"

"Were, in fact, about to do with the Russians -"

\- if someone fired at us."

"- and Xavier managed to stop Lehnsherr."

"But we tried to kill them and they tried to kill us.  That is where we are now.  There's no more talking.  We will try to take them alive.  That's all I can offer."  He takes a breath.  "They're all at the Presbyterian?"

"As far as I know."  Liar, says her mind, knowing that it was the right course to take.

"Good.  Come on.  Maybe you can give us some pointers.  Save some of those innocent Americans.  They should be your concern."

A plain clothes agent is sent into the Presbyterian to discreetly gather information.  He returns to the nearby command post with Charles Xavier's room number, and the knowledge that a man and a woman are visiting him.  McCone does not ask permission from the hospital director for the raid, on the basis that any attempt to clear the floor will tip off Xavier and his allies.

A group of armed agents, wearing stab vests under their plain clothes, is sent in.  Moira is not permitted to accompany them.  Instead, she sits in the command post and prays.

Five minutes later, they receive a call on the radio.  The room is empty, tubes hanging loose on the bed, the window open.  The agents are ordered to make a full search of the floor and the hospital.  Other agents are sent around the streets.  Moira's heart thrums with hope and she redoubles her prayers.

After two hours, all the agents have returned with nothing.  They've seen no-one matching the descriptions of any of the suspects anywhere in or around the hospital.  Moira exults while looking suitably disappointed.  She is pretty sure McCone sees straight through her.  Still, she couldn't have tipped them off and they can't accuse her of anything but being late with her report.  She still has a chance to work things from within the system.

"Any idea where else we can look?"

Two images flash across her mind - the mansion and being tied to the bed.  Erik doesn't trust her so ...  "Xavier owns a mansion in Westchester, it's where we were staying ..."

McCone is shaking his head, "We already checked it out early morning.  And none of the younger ones have gone back to their homes, or contacted anyone they knew.  Lehnsherr left a fake name and passport at the hotel so no leads there.  _Anything_ else?  Anywhere any of them mentioned?"

"No, sir.  I can't think of anywhere else they would go."  Which is one hundred per cent true.  But she does have another idea, and no intention of sharing it.

\---------------

She has been ordered to write up her report and prepare for debriefing at Langley that night.  She agrees and then slips away.  After twisting around to lose any tails, since McCone doesn't trust her yet, she makes her way back to the hospital.  Outside Intensive Care, she meets Dr Michaels, Charles' doctor from the previous night.

"Everything OK, Agent?"

"I'm just going to see Charles."

"He's not there."

"What?"

"A bunch of your people turned up earlier and stormed the room but he was gone.  They think his friend took him out the window."

Moira is nonplussed.  She was sure ...  "Can I see the room?"

"Um, well, OK, but quietly, there's someone else in there now."  He starts to lead her down to the room.

"Someone else?"

"Beds don't stay empty around here."  He opens the door for her and holds a finger to his lips.

Moira enters quietly.  An old lady is hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV, unconscious.  Moira looks around.  There is nothing strange about the room.  She closes her eyes to better extend her other senses.  Nothing.

 _Charles?_

Nothing.

She opens her eyes, disappointed.  She thinks of saying something but it seems stupid.  She was wrong.  She leaves the room and raises a hand to Dr Michaels, who waves back and returns to his clipboard.

As she come out of the elevator, her eyes widen.  She strides over and grabs Dr Michaels' sleeve.  

He is surprised, "Wha-?" and he looks stunned when she leans forward and sniffs at him,  "Um..."

Moira snarls, "Son of a..." and flies back the elevator.  Back in Intensive Care, she strides into Charles' room.  Michaels is standing by the heart monitor, making notes on his clipboard.

"Is there a problem, Agent?"

Moira goes in close and sniffs.

"Um..."

"Drop the act.  I'm not buying it."  She looks at the bed.  "Come on, Charles.  I know you're still here."

Michaels says, "I'm sorry?  What do you -?"

"Drop it, Raven, you're not Michaels.  You don't smell male, he does."

"Uh.  OK.  How about I take you over to the psych ward?  You can have a nice chat, bit of a rest."

"Ha ha."

"Or I can call your superiors and tell them you're harassing people."

"Go ahead.  I'll give you the number."  She turns back to the bed, not feeling stupid any more.  "Look Charles, I know it's been a rough couple of days but do I deserve this?"

Silence, except for Raven-as-Michaels sighing.  She/he leans back against the wall and assumes an air of patient condescension.  Moira rolls her eyes.

"I'm not buying it, fellers.  Erik may not have a lot of scruples in the way of theft, torture, murder, that kinda thing, he may border on genocidal mania.  But he cares about you, Charles.  He wouldn't risk moving you, wouldn't take you away from proper medical care when you're hurt.  You're still here."

Silence.

"Fine.  If that's the way it's gonna be.  At least I can say what I've come to say.  First up, tell Erik from me that next time I see him, he's getting a slap upside the head as well as a boot in the ass.  He and you," she turns to Raven, "aren't the only ones who know how to slip someone a Mickey Finn.  And I have better suppliers, so watch out."  She turns back to the bed.  "Second.  Last night, Azazel and Riptide broke Frost out of the facility where she has being held.  I really hope that wasn't on your orders, because they killed twenty guards.  I hope it wasn't on Erik's orders either but I regret I'm less confident of that.

"Third," she takes a deep breath, choosing to take one more step on the road to a treason charge, "early this morning, the CIA were all over the mansion.  The commander of the team concluded that it had been abandoned a couple hours before.  He also reported two of the rooms were badly damaged.  I hope you're all OK.

"Fourth and last.  I'm meeting with the President tonight.  I am to give him a full account of the last few days, my assessment of the current situation and my recommendations for the future.  One of my recommendations will be that he meets with you.  I am certain that there will be many and loud arguments against that but I intend to pursue it and I hope you will consider it.  I believe you don't want war and the only other choice is to talk."

She waits but there is no answer.  Dr Raven Michaels says, "Are you done talking to my coma patient?"

"I hope I see you guys around again.  It's been ..."  she shook her head and sighed, "it's been bizarre and wonderful and terrifying and an honour."  She gives a single wave and leaves.

Outside the hospital, she stops and takes a breath, holds it.  She will _not_ cry.  You don't get to be in the CIA if you cry when you're hurt.  She tells herself they're protecting her and it still hurts.

A certainty arrives in her head.  Azazel and Riptide aren't theirs.  They didn't give any orders.  Only one place that certainty came from.  She looks up at the building.

 _Charles?_

There is no answering thought but there is affection.

She smiles sadly.  "See you around, Professor."

Then she leaves to do battle for them.


	7. Wherein Erik is tough yet clueless

**Erik**

Charles is frowning and pressing fingers to both his temples.  Two CIA agents are staring out the open window, one is checking under the bed, two are looking into the room from the doorway.  They are oblivious to Charles and Erik lying next to each other on the bed, Erik on his side, Charles on his back.  Both men are utterly still, barely breathing.  Manipulating one mind is easy, five at once is tough.

Three leave swiftly to organise a search of the rest of the hosiptal.  Two take a moment to look through the bedside cabinet for clues, then they leave too.  After a couple of minutes, Erik taps Charles' arm.  

"Shh," is his only reply.

He lies still, looking down at Charles, examining his face - blue eyes closed, high forehead slightly furrowed, dark hair mussed.  He has stubble now, Charles who is usually so carefully smooth, looking rougher, less civilized.  He looks at Charles' mouth, closes his own eyes, takes a moment to diffuse his lust.  Best not to distract Charles with stray emotions while he's working.  Erik looks up at the ceiling and waits.

Every minute is too long until eventually Charles relaxes and drops his fingers.  His eyes open to Erik's and their faces are very close.  They say nothing.  The temptation to kiss him is strong but so is Erik.  He takes a breath, sits up and asks, "All done?"

"Yes.  Yes, I was just dissuading them from talking specifics with the hospital staff."

"Good."  Erik slides off the bed.  He turns back to Charles.  Charles isn't looking at him.  Erik isn't sure what to say.  He tries, "You did well.  Have you ever been in so many minds before?"

Charles pushes himself up.  "No, not actively.  Passively, you know, just picking things up.  I've never had to influence more than one."

"When we start training again, make sure you train yourself too.  You can't push the rest of us to excel and leave yourself average."

"Average?"  asks Charles with a slight smile.

Erik grins.  "Mediocre.  Pedestrian.  Unexceptional."

Charles' eyes narrow as his smile grows.  His fingers hit his temple with the speed of a gunslinger and Erik finds himself in a garden.  The sun is bright and hot, and a gentle breeze brings strong fragrance of flowers to him.  A nearby wall has roses and honeysuckle against it; at the end of the lawn is an orchard in bloom.  He can hear bees, and far away church bells are ringing.  He can feel soft turf beneath his bare feet and finds he is dressed in loose linen trousers and an open-necked shirt.

"Average?"  says a voice behind him.

He turns.  Charles is sitting at a tea table, laid up with bone china and cakes.  He is sitting back, wearing a white shirt and cream trousers, one foot resting on the opposite knee.  His feet are also bare, and there's smug grin on his face.  

He holds up the teapot.  "Tea, vicar?"  He swirls the jug.  "Or Champagne, whisky, beer, whatever you fancy."

Erik grins back and sits down.  He can feel the smooth metal chair under him but it doesn't register to his magnetic power.  He picks up his cup.  "Champagne, sir."

Charles tips the teapot and champagne comes bubbling out of the spout.  When he pours into his own cup, a darker liquid comes out; brandy, by the smell of it.

Erik tastes the champagne and it's excellent, better than they were served at the strip club.  "Not bad," he says.

"Not bad?  Would you prefer a different year?"  Charles is mildly annoyed.

Erik smiles again and taps the chair meaningfully.

"Sod," mutters Charles.  He concentrates and suddenly Erik _can_ feel the metal, ready to respond to him.  The cutlery too.  Just for the hell of it, he raises up a knife and twists it into a circle, lets it fall with a crash.

"Now I'm impressed," says Erik.

"Taskmaster."  Charles is smiling again.

"Call it an equal exchange.  You challenge me..." he leaves the sentence unfinished, Charles understands.

"Fair enough."  Charles raises his cup.  "Cheers."

"Cheers."  They both drink.  Erik looks around again.  It is a pleasant place.  Beyond the wall, he sees the roof of a house, a big, old place by the look of it.  "This is a real place, isn't it?  Could you put this much detail into somewhere imaginary?"

"That would be more difficult, though I'd only have to fill in the details where the person was paying attention.  I expect I'd need some time beforehand to work up a detailed vision in my head so I could be sure of it.  Otherwise I'd use somewhere I know or bits and pieces of different places.  This was where I lived as child."

"I thought you lived in Westchester."

"Only during the war.  It was my stepfather's place.  He and my mother decided to go there when the bombing started.  Before and after, we lived here."  He looks round.  "I haven't been back in ages."

"It seems a beautiful place."

"Yes.  I was happy enough here, more so when Raven arrived."  He looks down at his cup, suddenly realising what a far cry this is from Erik's childhood.

Erik, though, doesn't seem bothered.  "Does your mother still live here?"

"Hmm?  Oh.  No, London.  She's a city-dweller to her core, but we lived here when I was young because I couldn't handle the city, too many people thinking and feeling."

"Professor?" comes a voice from all round.  "Are you OK?"

They are back in the hospital room and Erik turns away from Charles to see Dr Michaels and a nurse, looking worried.

"Fine, thank you," says Charles.  "Just a bit shocked.  Who were those men?"

"CIA, apparently.  They ...  .  Well, they say they're looking for Charles Xavier."

Charles shrugs.  "Must be some other Charles Xavier, strange as that may seem."

"I guess so.  After all they're still searching."  He doesn't look entirely convinced.

The nurse says, "You poor thing.  Your name must have come up on some report, and they didn't bother to check if you were the same man."  She fluffs his pillows.  Charles smiles up at her.  Erik folds his arms.  "Are you sure you're OK?  They didn't give you any trouble?"

"None.  They didn't pay attention to us at all.  Just looked around and left."

Erik says, "Mistaken identity."

"Well, I'm glad for you," says the nurse.  "I hope they leave soon.  They're disturbing all our patients."

She leaves.  Michaels gives them a look, which they return innocently.  He shakes his head and leaves.  Half an hour later, he puts his head back round the door and tells them that the CIA have gone.  When he goes, Erik follows him, Charles' voice in his head saying, _Go easy, won't you?  He makes decisions about my needles and catheters and ...  other things I'd rather not discuss._

Erik waits outside another patient's room until Michaels comes out, and says, "A word?"

Michaels looks nervous but nods.  "Ah, private, I assume?  Um.  This way."  They end up in a room with a coma patient.

Charles is watching through Erik's eyes.  He makes an effort and confirms that the patient is in a state of deep unconsciousness.  He is intrigued and wonders how easy it would be to contact the person's mind; Erik gives him a mental nudge to pull him back to the matter at hand.

Michaels is still looking nervous.  "The Professor's improving well and it shouldn't be many more days before we get the final prognosis."

"That's good to know.  But not what I want to talk about."  Erik takes a step forward.  He is a few inches taller than Michaels and has a long history of being menacing.  "Why didn't you turn us in?"

"Turn you in?  What, to the CIA?  But you're not the guys they're looking for, are you?  So..."

"Don't play the fool.  Why didn't you tell them we're still here?"

Michaels looks up at him for a second then shrugs.  "It's not my job, right?  They can't find you, that's their problem.  Besides, would they believe me if I said you were in the room they'd just searched?"

"Possibly.  You seem very calm about lying to your government."

Michaels sighs at that and looks at his feet.

 _Do you actually want him to turn us in?_

 _Shut up.  My interrogation._

The doctor raises his head again and says, "You know, I'd love to turn you guys in.  Because it would mean that I had the faith in my government that I had as a kid.  Before my family fell victim to McCarthy for something my Dad had wondered about years before.  He lost his job, we lost our house.  Rough times.  All because of some phantom fear.  And my buddy lost his job because they claimed he was homosexual.  As if it would matter anyway.  They didn't need proof, they just brushed off all that old Spanish Inquisition stuff - suspicion is guilt.  

"Maybe you fellers are international terrorists about commit an atrocious act, and I'm letting you get away with it.  Or maybe you're some poor suckers who are getting chased for being different.  Which you certainly are.  Probably you're somewhere in between.  I guess I choose the Hippocratic Oath over the Pledge of Allegiance.  At least that's never let me down.  Professor Xavier is my patient and I'm not having him harassed by anyone until he's in a condition to deal with it.  That work for you?"

 _Is he sincere?_

 _Yes._

Erik regards the doctor for a long moment before saying, "Thank you."

"Welcome."

Erik nods and leaves.  He asks Charles, _Do you think he'll stick to it?_

 _He means to, just now.  We'll see._

\---------------

A while later, Moira leaves and Erik rolls off the bed.

"Sorry," says Raven.  "I thought it would be the best form to persuade her that we really had left."

"Live and learn," says Erik.

"It was the right choice," says Charles.  "It's just bad luck that she saw him somewhere.  Still, she's gone now."  He sounds disappointed.  "It's probably for the best.  I wonder if I should have wiped her memory?"

"Yes," answers Erik, leaning on the bed.  "Can you still do it?"

"Not at this distance.  And I'm getting a headache."  Charles rubs his eyes.

The nurse comes in.  "Visiting hours are almost over.  You two are going to have to leave."

Erik is not happy and Raven looks the same too.  She catches Charles' eye and sends the thought to both of them, _I can stay, pretend to be a nurse._

"You two go and get some rest," says Charles.  "I know I need some."

"We can stay a little bit longer."

"No," says the nurse, "his supper's coming and then there are some things we need to attend to.  I think it's best if you leave now."

 _I'll be fine.  I'll call if there's a problem._

 _If you're awake,_ thinks Erik.

 _I'll wake if a hostile mind comes near me.  Honestly.  You need to check on the others anyway._

They reluctantly agree.  Erik doesn't like leaving Charles alone, what if the CIA or MacTaggert come back?  But he doesn't want to draw attention either.  They are precariously balanced on luck and the ill will of a human towards his government.  Not that Erik thinks he couldn't resuce Charles, if it comes to that.  But he doesn't want Charles in their hands even for one day.  Unacceptable.

Raven gives Charles a kiss on the forehead and Erik gives him a nod.  They silently walk out together into the summer evening.  On the subway journey to the hotel, they stand close and talk softly.

Raven says, "I really am sorry I messed up."

"Forget it.  She's gone, that's good enough."

"Yeah.  Even so, I'll do better."

"I'm sure you will."  He gives her an encouraging smile.

She smiles back and twists her fingers.  "Maybe we could..."

"Tell me about the house in England.  Did you live there too?"

"Redbearn Manor?"

Erik shrugs, gestures for her to expand.

"Well, that's where we lived when we went to England after the war."

"Yes.  Where is it?"

"A little way north of Oxford."

"Charles said he hasn't been there in a long time."

"No, it's such a big old place.  There was no point with just the two of us.  The flat in Oxford was more cosy."  She leans forward, excited.  "Is that where we're going?  It's a great idea.  We have friends all round.  If there's anywhere we can live openly it's there."

Erik is surprised.  What is she thinking?  "Raven.  We cannot live openly anywhere.  They will kill us, don't you see that?"

"But ...  but we'll be far away."

"They sent assassins after Castro, and he's nowhere near the threat we are."

"That's in Cuba.  This'll be England."

"So they won't have to send their own assassins.  They'll get the British to do it."

He has to drop his head to hear her next words.  "But you said we shouldn't have to hide.  That we should be proud and ...  and ..."

"When the time comes, we won't.  When we are ready, when we are in position to defeat them, then we will stand out proudly.  But we cannot prepare if we are forever being chased and attacked.  We hide now, so that later we can be free on our own terms."

She nods, still sad, looking away from his face.  "Right.  Yes, you're right.  I ...  I just ...  thought it was over.  The hiding.  I thought ...  because you said ...  and Charles always said ...  and I thought that now you two are in tune that ..."

He lifts her chin.  "You never have to hide from us."

Her eyes lighten and she smiles, blinks away her tears.  "No.  I don't have to hide from you."

He nods and lets her go.  He lifts his head to check the subway map.  Raven steps a little closer to him.  This seems strange to Erik because the train isn't that full.  He lowers his head to see if she has something else to say.

She smiles up at him and says, "You know, we could find ourselves another hotel, just for a little while."  She strokes her hand down his arm, licks her lips and flashes gold in her eyes.

For a moment, Erik is tempted.  "It's an attractive offer.  But I don't think it's a good idea."

Her smile freezes.  "Why not?  You thought it was a good idea the other night."  Her voice is getting louder.

"Raven..."

"What was that then, a pity fuck?"

Half the carriage turns to look.

Erik catches her arm.  "You are an attractive, desirable woman.  And I still feel that.  But I don't want you to think I'm interested in a relationship."

Raven tugs away from him.  She is upset, blushing hard.  "Who...who was talking about a relationship, I was talking about sex.  But fine, fine."  She steps away to the other side of the carriage and won't look at him.  "Just forget it."  Pause.  "I know I will."

Erik mentally sighs.  He hopes her embarrassment won't last long.  Guiltily, he hopes she won't tell Charles.  Not that it should matter.  He will freely tell Charles himself, if it comes to that.  It isn't as though he has an obligation to either of them.  It was just sex, just lust.

Raven is an attractive woman who lay in his bed and offered.  Charles is his friend who he has been attracted to from the first, since he heard his voice in the water, since they pulled themselves dripping onto the ship.  Friendship and attraction are just that, two separate, if complementary, concepts.

He dismisses Raven's distress, and turns his attention to the problem of keeping the others busy and hidden for the next few days.


	8. Wherein Hank isn't happy

**Hank**

Hank wakes to a small, dim room.  There is another occupied bed separated from his by a bedside table.  Sean, he remembers.  He remembers everything.  He pulls the blankets over his head.

A knock at the door.  He realises that was what woke him.  Sean stirs, turns his face into the pillow and mutters "guhweh".  Hank goes to the door and says softly, "Who is it?"

"Alex.  You guys want some breakfast?"

Hank thinks and realises he does.  He lets Alex in.

"Afternoon, boys.  Up and at 'em."

"Afternoon?"

"Yup."  Alex dumps two grocery bags on Hank's bed and the contents spill out.  "I only woke up a little while ago.  Mr Lehnsherr left a note.  He and Raven have gone to the hospital.  He said get food, get a first aid kit, a couple of canteens, flashlights, blankets and soap.  Not all at once.  I started with the food."  

Sean has rolled over, is rubbing his eyes.  "What you get?"

"Bread, cold cuts, fruit, milk."

Hank rubs his nose.  "Very healthy," he says.

"Yeah, well, he didn't leave a lot of money and I don't want a lecture."

"Save me some," says Sean, and stumbles to the bathroom.

Hank and Alex start to divide the food.  "What about Angel?" asks Hank.

Alex growls, sighs and says, "Go ask her."

Hank panics.  "I can't ..."

"She's just next door."

"No way!"  That comes out with a bit of a growl attached.

"OK!  OK.  Jeez."  He goes out and Hank hears the knock.  There is movement beyond the wall and he hears the door open.  Alex is cursory, Angel quiet.  They come back to Hank's room.

"How you feeling?" asks Hank.

She gives him a weak smile.  "Been better."

Sean wanders out of the bathroom and they share the food in silence.  When they have mostly finished, Sean lies back, scoffing his last sandwich, Alex gets up and stares out the window, Hank sits huddled against the headboard, and Angel looks from one to the other.  "Where's Hank?" she asks.

Hank looks at her, then away.  One of the others must have pointed at him because Angel gasps, "Hank?!  Oh my God!  Hank, is that you?"

Hank reflexively raises his hand to hide his face but catches sight of the blue fur and turns away from it.

"Yeah," said Alex, "who knew the geek had an inner beast?"

"Shut up,"  growls Hank.

"What happened?" asks Angel.

Hank just folds his arms across his knees and lays his head on them, looking at the wall.

Sean says, "He tried to undo his mutation and it ...  well, you know, it didn't work."

"Wow.  That's ...  awful.  I mean, it's not like there was anything really wrong with you in the first place."

Hank shakes his head, half-laughs, half-sighs, and says, "Yeah, you're telling me.  If I could go back, I'd be ecstatic to be what I was."

"Well, you can't," says Alex.  "So, what are you gonna do about it?"

"What can I do?" roars Hank.  "Pretend I'm dressed for halloween?"  He roars again without words, the fierce bellow of a great beast, which shakes the windows.  He gains a little satisfaction that Alex swallows and takes a step back.

Only one step, though, because this is Alex, and he straightens his spine, shrugs and says, "There's always the shaving option."

\---------------

They hear the doors on either side of Hank and Sean's room being unlocked.  Angel and Sean have had the giggles for a while, and now clap their hands over their mouths, look at each other and go off again.  Alex and Hank have finished the job by themselves, Hank not being eager to be covered in cuts from laughter-shaken hands.  They also have beer, one each and one for their companions being all they could afford.  It turns out Angel is better at drinking beer than Sean, though she says she prefers tequila or bourbon.

Hank is suddenly nervous.  Mr Lehnsherr is not going to like this and he has no idea what Raven will think.  He finishes pulling on his new clothes, got cheap from a local thrift shop.  He hasn't had the guts to look at himself in the mirror yet.  There is a knock.  Alex checks the peephole.  Then he opens the door a little, stands back and sweeps it open with a wide gesture at Hank and a ringing, "Ta-da!"

Two jaws drop.  Hank fidgets.  Mr Lehnsherr closes his mouth and steps forward.  Raven reshapes hers into something between a smile and a grimace with a lot of surprise thrown in.

"Hank?" says Raven.  "Hank, is that you?"

Hank shrugs.  "Yeah.  How do I look?"  And then his eyes drift at last to the mirror.

It's ...  not that bad.  It's not great.  It's weird.  He doesn't look like himself, the shape of his face and his build have both changed.  He knew the former from shaving himself.  He had hoped that some of his extra bulk was from the fur, but he is definitely more muscular than before.  Which he guesses is OK, even though it doesn't look like him, but it does look like the him he hoped to become when he was thirteen and used to read the Charles Atlas advertisements.  He can get used to it.

His face has changed, though.  It doesn't look normal.  He touches it carefully, exploring with eyes and fingers.  His eyes are yellow and he can't think anything will change that, though he's having some thoughts about adding colour to contact lenses.  He looks odd, OK, be honest, cat-like, in the shape of his eyes and nose, but not too much.  His teeth - well he'll need to find a _great_ dentist.  The make-up Angel smeared on his skin, she called it foundation, is ...  not working that great.  But she said they could raid a theatrical supplier and maybe stage make-up would work better.  

They have dyed the fur on his head black.  His ears are partially hidden under his hat and the fur is long enough where they used to be that he can pretend they're hidden.  If no-one looks closely.  He doesn't look normal, he'll get stared at, but he figures it'll be less than with the fur and the blue.  Less than if he were disfigured by scars or burns, even.  His face could be worse.

The claws are a problem.  He'll need to wear gloves in public.  Sean suggested they could steal some nail clippers from a veterinarian.  Hank was hurt but he knows Sean meant well.

He looks himself all over, angling his head and body this way and that.  Little bits of blue show through, here and there.  He'll just have to get better at hiding it.  He will get better.  

He sees Raven in the mirror next to him.  She has resolved her expression into sadness.  She opens her mouth but he forestalls her.

"Don't."

"Hank.  There was nothing wrong wi..."

"Don't!  Don't wear that pretty face and tell me..."

 She slips back to her true form and faces him.  "Mutant and proud, Hank.  There nothing wrong with us."

"There is everything wrong with us!  We can't go out, can't walk down the street, or ...  or go to a movie or a store or ...  anything!"  There is a subtle growl flowing under his words and he can't get rid of it.

"I will!  We will!  We're not the ones with the problem, the humans are the ..."

"We are human!  I WAS human.  We are never going to able to walk out there..."

"We will.  We WILL."

The roar breaks out.  "When?!  Where?!"

Mr Lehnsherr answers.  "When Charles understands what needs to be done."

Hank turns to him.  He is leaning against the wall, eating an apple.

He continues, "Then we can make a place for ourselves.  And eventually, we will take the whole world.  Then you will walk as freely as you choose."

"Erik and Charles can make it happen," says Raven.  "When you put their powers together, what can't they do?"

"Change the way people think?"  Hanks mocks.  Then his brain catches up.  "Oh, wait."

Erik smirks and takes another bite.

Hank scratches where the make-up is annoying him.  "Can that really work?"

"In time," says Erik.  "Cerebro, or a modified version, will help.  You can build another?"

"Sure.  It'll take longer than last time, now I don't have CIA techs to help me.  Sure, though."

"Good."  He gestures up and down at Hank, "I must admit, this will make it easier for us to sneak out of the country."

"We're really leaving?" asks Angel.

" _We_ are.  Have you made your choice?"

She shrugs.  "I got nowhere else to go."

"That's not really a good reason to stay, or for us to accept you."

Angel takes a quivering breath.  "Shaw said he would make me a queen.  You don't know what it's like; white men own the world.  I ..."

Erik waves his hand, "I didn't ask you to justify yourself.  I asked you why you want to come with us."

"What else am I..."

"Tomorrow, Alex and I will start to obtain false passports for all of us.  Once we're out of the country, you can go wherever you want."  He stands straight.  "If you want to come with us, you'd better give me good reason to believe you won't betray us.  Otherwise, you make your own path.  I'll give you some money, a little.  You're resourceful enough to manage from there."

"You can always try to find your new buddies," snipes Alex.  "Beg them to take you back."

Still looking at Angel, Mr Lehnsherr says, "It's up to you."  Then he turns to them all.  "The CIA were at the hospital."

Hank feels the fight or flight response ripple through him.  He hears sharp intakes of breath.

"Charles fooled them but they will be searching for us.  I've paid off the front desk.  He's not that interested anyway, he'd lie just to avoid trouble.  It means, though, that the three of you," looking at Sean, Hank and Angel, "will have to stay inside until we're ready to go."  He looks at Angel.  "Unless you choose to go now."  To the young men.  "We'll get you some entertainment."  He turns to Alex.  "Use that hair dye on yourself."  Then he summons a beer by its cap, tips the bottle to them and turns to the door.

"Mr Lehnsherr?"  says Sean.

"Yes?"  He pulls the cap off the beer.

"Can I call my parents?  They'll be worried."

"Not yet.  Just before we leave, you can call them from a payphone.  Then if the CIA trace the call to New York, we'll already be gone."

"Oh.  OK."

Lehnsherr nods and leaves.

There is silence for a moment then Raven says, "I'm going to bed."

"Wait," says Hank.  "How's the Professor?"

She smiles at him.  "As well as he can be.  We'll know in a few days."

"Tell him ...  we're thinking of him."  

The others agree.

Raven smiles again, kisses Hank's cheek and leaves.  Angel goes with her.

The boys sit on the beds and look at one another.  Sean idly pulls open the drawer in the bedside table.  He finds an old deck of cards.  "Poker, anyone?" he asks.

A while later, Hank thinks he hears sobbing coming from the girls' room.  The others don't seem to have noticed.  He can't tell which of the women it is.  He turns back to the game.


	9. Wherein Raven expresses her opinion

**Charles**

Charles suggests Switzerland.

"Too mountainous."

"Spain?"

"Franco."

"Luxembourg?"

"Too small.  Which also applies to Lichtenstein, Monaco, Malta and Andorra."  Erik idly flicks a coin into the air and lets it spin several times.  "Italy.  We can bribe practically anyone for anything."

"I'm going to have object on exactly those grounds."

Erik is exasperated.  "Scandanavia?"

"Too cold."

"Portugal."

"Salazar."

"Austria."

"Full of spies.  I wouldn't have thought you were any more fond of Austria than you are of Germany."

"We're running out of Western Europe."

Charles sighs.  Choosing where to go is more complicated than he expected.  Erik is picky.  So far the only places they both favour are the South of France and Greece, though most of their reasons are concerned with creature comforts, rather than the more important reasons, some might argue, of security, space and seclusion.  They did agree to hold in reserve the idea of buying a Greek island.  DIfficult as that is, it is starting to seem the most likely choice.

Raven is pacing.  He has asked her three times over the last couple of days what's wrong and each time she's said she's fine.  One of the things Charles has learned as a telepath is that people lie a lot.  He can always tell, even when he is only using his powers passively.  He then has to decide whether the liar has honourable or hostile intentions in their lie, and whether to call them on it.  He has found that the standard 'I'm fine' lie is mostly self-sabotaging and generally means 'I don't want to talk to you about it'.

He looks back to Erik.  "So we're left with Belgium, Holland and Ireland."

"Belgium and Ireland are strongly influenced by the Catholic church.  It could make things complicated."

"True.  We don't really want the local clergy sticking their noses in to find out why we're not in church.  And I don't see the Pope being ovely enthused about mutants.  Holland, then.  It's Protestant, doesn't have a mountain in sight and it's an open-minded society.  On the other hand, they speak Dutch, which none of us do."

"It's close to German."

"German is unpopular in Holland, I've heard.  In any case, we don't all have your gift for languages.  Raven and I speak some French, the others might speak some Spanish, but no German and certainly no Dutch."

"Learn.  Or we'll be limited to English-speaking nations.  The US is out and Canada is too close.  South Africa has its own issues."  He pauses and Charles sees a thought strike him.  "New Zealand or Australia?"

Charles considers.  "Both developed countries with relatively few people and lots of space.  Australia's quite happy to take immigrants.  We could have privacy and the ability to blend in."

"It's some distance away but if Hank can build another Blackbird, that won't be a problem."

They grin at each other, sharing the excitement at this breakthrough.  They have a destination.  The next step is open to them.

Charles feels anger rising in Raven.  He looks over.  She is glaring into the corner of the room, her mouth set.  "Raven?"

Erik looks around at her and then back at Charles, raises his eyebrows.

"Is something wrong?"  Charles asks for the fourth time.

They both look at her as she squares up to them.  "Wrong?  Yeah.  Yeah, there's something wrong.  You're hypocritical fucking cowards!"

Charles and Erik are too shocked to speak.

Raven shifts into Charles' boyhood self.  "You will never have to hide again," she imitates, then adds, "except from the entire world."  She shifts into Charles' current form.  "We can live peacefully alongside humans.  As long as we hide and they don't know we exist."  She shifts to Erik's form.  "You should wear your true form, we shouldn't have to hide.  But we will, so only wear it when we're alone."  She shifts to her true form.  "We can be ourselves, as long as no-one knows.  Hypocrites."

The door opens.  Dr Michaels' shoots his head in and stares at Raven.

She turns on him, not bothering to change again.  "What?!"

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.  "D-Don't do anything weird, OK?"

"Weird?"  She puts her hand to her chest.  "Me?"

He pauses and then smiles.  "Sorry.  Stupid of me.  Carry on."  He leaves.

Charles and Erik gaze at the closed door.  "What a very phlegmatic man," says Charles.

"Pay attention!"

They snap back to Raven.

"I won't do it.  I won't hide any more.  I am going to live openly.  If you don't like it, you can go off to your little secret hideout and plot and plan and whatever you end up doing, but - Count.  Me.  Out."

Charles is stunned.  He laughs slightly.  "Raven, you can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Because there's nowhere in the world ..."

"England."

Erik says, "Why should England ...?"

"Mom.  I'll go to Mom.  She'll help me."

"She bloody won't," says Charles.

"She will."

"Not a chance!  She's the one who taught us to hide."

Erik holds up a hand, looks between the two of them.  "Your mother...  Charles' mother...?"

"My mother," says Charles.  "She adopted Raven."

"She knows?"  Erik is surprised.

Charles stares at him for moment then says, "No, Erik.  I telepathically convinced my mother and stepfather that they wanted to adopt some random child that I happened to have on hand.  Of course, she knows."

Erik ignores the sarcasm.  "You couldn't have done it, or you chose not to?"

Charles blinks at Erik.  "I chose not to.  Putting aside the many ways that attempting that could go _horribly_ wrong, and what kind of hideous child I would have been to control my own mother that way, I knew her.  I knew she'd help."

Raven, a little calmer, says, "Mom may be kinda spoiled and she doesn't really understand people who aren't, well, rich.  But in some ways, she's amazing.  When Charles took me to her I was afraid, but after we explained she just looked at me and said, 'I always wanted a daughter'.  And that was that."

Charles' voice warms with the pride he always feels for his mother when he remembers those days.  "She told everyone the next day that she had decided to adopt a little girl.  Two days later, Raven appeared as a blonde.  When my stepfather came home from his business trip, I did give him a little push.  But Ma had him tied around her little finger so he probably didn't need it."

"He and I never took to each other," says Raven.  "But it didn't matter.  I had a brother and a Mom and that was something I'd only ever dreamed of."  She and Charles smile at each other.  Then Raven eyeballs him.  "And she will help me."

"She will NOT."

"She will.  She won't _want_ to," Raven cuts him off as he starts to object again, "she'll order and cajole and plead and she'll try every underhand trick and emotional blackmail that she can think of to manipulate me.  But in the end?  If I tell her I'm doing it no matter what?  She'll stand by me.  And best of luck to anyone who tries to make trouble."

Erik's voice is soft.  "It won't matter to you what happens to the troublemakers, because you will be dead.  They _will_ kill you.  And since you're not human, they will not be tried for murder.  The worst crime they could be accused of is animal cruelty."

Charles winces, "I don't think the human race is so blinkered as to regard us as animals.  I'm afraid he's right about the rest, though.  It isn't safe to live openly, not yet.  I'm sorry."

Raven is silent.  Then she says, "I would rather one month of living openly than a lifetime of hiding."

"You don't mean that."

That inflames her again.  "Don't tell me what I mean!"

Erik stands, takes a step towards her.  "It won't be a lifetime.  We will defeat our enemies and make a place..."

Raven clutches her head and screams.  "Aah!  NO!  Charles will not help you destroy the human race.  He WON'T.  You'll end up fighting each other.  And you!"  She turns on Charles, "How stupid are you?"

Charles blinks.  He hadn't thought she could shock him again.

"You're not going to get acceptance by snapping your fingers.  Look at the civil rights movement, look at women's rights.  Negroes and women have been a part of the species forever and they still have to fight for equality.  But they _are_ fighting.  How are you going to fight from hiding?  How can anyone give you rights if they don't know you exist?  

"It's fine for you two.  It's even fine for me.  But what about Hank?  And what about the others who can't pretend?  At least I can make sure that they won't be the first ones to face the ...  the revelation and the hate.  So I die.  Maybe I can leave behind something for people to think about.  The journalists will get to me before the haters.  It'll be worth more than trailing along behind one or both of you, living a lie."

She walks out.  Charles and Erik stare after her.  Through the window they see her shake herself, take her blonde form and storm off.  They exchange shocked looks and Charles puts his fingers to his temple.  He scans the nearby area but there are no shocked thoughts.  "No-one saw her."

Erik sits down again.  They shrug at each other.  Erik gestures vaguely at the door.  "She's not serious?"

"Temporarily.  I'm sure it's only temporary.  She won't go through with it."  Neither of them is reassured.  "Ma won't help her."  Charles is certain of that, at least.  Mostly certain.  He tries again.  "She's been upset about something for a couple of days."  He has a sudden inspiration.  "Maybe it's Hank.  You know she had a sort of infatuation with him."

"Yes."  Erik looks unsure.  Charles senses something strange, he can't quite put his finger on it.

"Have you noticed anything between them?"

Erik isn't looking at him.  "Not especially."  Is that a flicker of ...  guilt?  Guilt, Erik?  

 _Erik?_

Erik grimaces, shakes his head.

"You'll tell me if there's something."

Now Erik looks at him.  "It's probably not connected."

"Mm."  Charles raises an eyebrow.

Erik breathes out heavily and stares at the ceiling.  "She might be upset that ...  I wouldn't have sex with her again."

After a blank moment, Charles wonders how many more shocks he can have before his heart starts to worry the doctors.  He stares into space and tries to think which of the many things he wants to say would be safe to voice.  All he feels from Erik is a certain amount of embarrassment.  

"When was this?" he asks.

There is a slight increase in the embarrassment.  "The night before we fought Shaw."

 _Bloody hell!_   "You had sex with us _both_ in one night."

"Yes."

"I don't know whether to be impressed or appalled."

The embarrassment lessens.  "You both offered and I accepted."  

Erik had better not be secretly preening.  Charles thinks of looking and decides he doesn't want to know.

A horrible thought strikes him.  "You weren't in bed with her when ... ?"

"No!"  Now their eyes meet, Erik indignant, Charles sceptical.  "That would be a bit much, even for me.  She was earlier then she left.  I was asleep _alone_ when you called."

Charles looks back to the ceiling.  "Well, that explains the kitchen, anyway."  He feels a question from Erik but waves it away.  

Another horrible thought.  "She doesn't know about ..."  He flicks a finger between the two of them.

"No."

"Thank God for that."  He bites his lip.  "So when did you ...  refuse ...  ?"  Wait a minute.  "Why did you refuse?"  He's indignant.  Why should Erik reject his sister?  She's a wonderful, beautiful woman.

"A couple of days ago.  You know what women are.  They can't easily separate sex from love.   If we'd done it again, she would have started expecting more.  I don't intend to ever tie myself to someone that way.  It's too..." he circles a hand.

"Distracting."  Charles looks at Erik who meets his gaze.  "When there's other important things to do."

"Exactly."

Charles nods.  "That's unfortunate for Raven, though."  He looks down, toys with the sheet.  "I think you were her first."

He feels the wince from Erik.  After a moment, Erik says, "I didn't ... .  I should probably have guessed that."

Charles feels sad for Raven.  He doesn't think this is something she'll talk to him about, though.  For himself, he wouldn't know where to start asking.  He tries to hold onto his aggravation at Erik, but he doubts Erik deliberately lead Raven to expect more from him.  While being too bloody stupid to see that's exactly what she'd do.  But then, his own past, while not, apparently, as adventurous as Erik's, is perhaps no more kind.  He can't throw stones.

One question is answered.  Erik will have sex with anyone who asks.

"Poor Raven," says Charles.  "Anyway, it's done.  Maybe Hank will ...  pick up the pieces."

Erik looks at him.  "I think Hank's rather self-absorbed at the moment."

"Yes."  Charles regards him critically.  "Raven has trouble with men like that.  And I include myself in the list."

Erik nods.  "Chess?"

"Definitely."


	10. Wherein Erik smashes things

**Erik**

It's been a long week of busy limbo.  Erik swings into Intensive Care with a desire to shake Michaels and get him to fix a date.  Angel and Sean are starting to climb the walls.  Hank is immersed in piles of paper - diagrams, formulae and instructions.  Even Alex is getting fidgety with little to do but run errands to the shops.  He did seem to enjoy the meetings the black-marketeers and forgers that Erik found.  Now they have their passports with forged Canadian visas, Erik wants to go.  All that is left is waiting until Charles can be moved.

He reaches Charles' room and looks in through the window, to check there are no curtains around the bed.

Raven is hugging Charles tightly.  Charles' face is buried in her chest, his arms are wrapped around her.  His body is shaking in the rhythm of his sobs.  Raven's face is shining with tears.

Erik goes cold.  A shudder runs through him and he steps back from the door.

No.  No, no, no, no ...  He leans against the lift doors.  The metal starts to bend and creak.

A voice echoes his thoughts.  "No, no, no."  Hands clutch his side and back.  "No, you can't do that here."  The voice is out of breath.

It occurs to Erik that Michaels is talking and Michaels can tell him the worst.  He drags his hands off the metal and rounds on the doctor.  Michaels steps back.

"Tell me," Erik demands.

"N-not here.  Not if you're going to wreck stuff."

"Tell.  Me."  One lift door pops out of its runner at the top.

"So that's a yes on the wrecking.  Parking garage."  He bolts through the doors to the staircase.

Erik snarls and tears after him.  He sees Michaels plunging fast, leaping bannisters every chance he gets.  Erik tries a fast grab with his power, but a white coat and scrubs have no metal.  Only a couple of pens fly upwards.  

He curses and starts to follow, damning the lack of a well to levitate down.  He tries to get a magnetic grip on the man's body but he can't concentrate enough, fear and fury distracting him.  He does whip up some bannisters, though.  Michaels flinches away from them, falls down a few stairs.  Erik is gaining, only a two flights away.  Michaels picks himself up and desperately bangs through a door.  Erik leaps the last flight, doesn't hit the ground as he propels himself through the door that his powers hold open.

Now he lands.  The parking garage.  His territory.  He spots Michaels and pulls two cars together to block the man's escape.  He levitates to the top of one and stands above him.  The doctor is trying not to cower.  Erik gives him points for courage but this is over.

"Tell.  Me.  I won't ask again."

"I'll tell you.  Just bear in mind that the Ford Edsel over there," he points, "the blue and white one, is mine."

Erik can't believe the man.  He bares his teeth and raises his hand.

"He's paralysed."

The world stops.

"He has no feeling or movement in his legs.  He has slight movement in his right foot.  By some miracle, he still has feeling in his backside, which is lucky."

Erik's lips curl.  "Lucky?"  he asks, with the control of a leopard about to pounce.

"Otherwise he would be incontinent."

Erik flinches.

"He's going to be in a wheelchair.  In every other way, he's in good health."

He falls silent.  Erik can't move, can't think.  The words have struck him harder than Shaw's blows.  Charles is ...  broken.  Permanently.  His breathing speeds up.  His head comes up, his hand thrusts out and Michaels' car roof is staved in as though punched by a giant fist.  He thrusts his hand up and the car crashes against the ceiling.  He smashes it against the floor, against a column, scrapping others as it flails about.  He squeezes his hand slowly closed and the whole frame begins to crush.  He smashes it against the floor again, over and over, flings it the length of the garage until it hits the far wall and then brings it bouncing back, crushing it smaller and smaller all the way.  It comes to a stop just by him.  He stares then smashes it against the ceiling, grinding it there.  Then he lets it fall.

His breathing slows again.  He notices Michaels is now cowering in the angle of the two cars, arms thrown over his head.  Erik sinks down onto the roof of the car, drops his head into his hands.  Other words are in his head now.  'No, my friend.  You did this.'  You did this, you did this, and in the distance, the sound of his mother's body hitting the ground.  Over and over.  No, no, no, nein, nein, doch, not my fault, hab' ich nicht gemacht.  Charles, I'm sorry, sorry, vergib mich, Charles, mir moichl, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry.

"That's OK.  It was a lousy car anyway."

"My fault.  It's my fault.  He's broken and I did it."

"Oh."  A hand pats his back gently.  "He forgives you.  It was an accident."

Erik strikes away the hand and glares at him.  "What do you know?"

Michaels shies away but doesn't leave.  "I ...  know you're best friends.  So you didn't do it deliberately.  And this morning when we'd gone through his standard tests, and he pretty much knew, though we hadn't said for certain.  Anyway, he was tense and unhappy.  Then all of a sudden, he relaxed, brightened up.  He tracked his eyes along the wall to the door and you came in.  So I think he forgives you.  If he ever blamed you at all.  You could be taking on more guilt than you deserve; people do."

Erik shakes his head.  "He blames me.  He blamed me on the beach.  When it happened, he said ...  he said I did it."  He scrubs his head with his hands, can't erase the words.

"Oh.  Well, he seems to be over it."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Michaels shrugs.  "A lot, I'm told."

Erik gives him a withering look.

"You think he blames you?  So face him now.  He's just had the bad news, he's as emotional as he's going to get.  If he blames you, he'll tell you.  Go find out."

It takes Erik a moment to gather the strength to stand.  He owes Charles this, to stand before him and accept anger and blame as his due.  He slowly levitates down from the car.  As he starts to walk away, he realises what has just been done for him.  He turns back.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"The car.  The -" he looks away, "- comfort."

"Better the car than the ICU equipment.  And the other?"  He shrugs.  "You're hurting.  I'm a doctor.  It's what we do."

Erik doesn't understand and walks away.

Outside Charles' door, he pauses again.  Raven is holding Charles' hand.  Their heads are close.  Charles looks ...  wrecked.

He goes in.  Charles looks to him, looks away, raises his hand to his face.  Erik's heart squeezes.

"Sorry, Erik.  I'm ...  a, a mess.  I ...  "  His mouth works silently.

Erik closes with him.  "I know.  Charles, I'm _sorry._ I did this to you."

Charles looks up in surprise.  "What?"

"This is my fault."

"No."  The voice echoes in his head, _No.  Not you.  No fault._

 _Of course.  You said._

 _No.  Forget.  Save Moira.  Hurt._

 _I hurt you._

 _The helmet.  You didn't trust me._

 _Sorry.  So sorry._ And he knows Charles can feel how deeply that truth goes.

 _Forgiven.  Nothing to forgive._

 _My fault._

 _All our faults.  No fault.  Accident.  Forgive.  Friend, dear friend._

 _Charles.  Friend._ He knows too that Charles understands how long it has been since he has had anyone to call 'friend'.

He opens his eyes and finds their foreheads pressed together, his hand in Charles' hair, Charles hand on his neck.  For a moment, this emotional exposure doesn't frighten him and he pulls Charles into a tight hug.  He feels Charles' emotions brushing against his own.  Deep affection, trust, admiration.  He can barely believe Charles feels these things for him.  The affection and admiration he can return.  The trust he has to work on.  He will.  He hopes Charles understands, believes he does.

After a moment, he feels Raven tentatively put an arm part way round his back.  He opens one arm, finds Charles doing the same, drawing her in with them.  They are sad and needing, close and comforting, and somewhere in there, healing happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German : Nein - no; doch - emphatic denial; hab' ich nicht gemacht - I didn't do it; vergib mich - forgive me. Yiddish : mir moichl - forgive me.


	11. Wherein we meet someone new

**Gus**

Dr Gus Michaels calls a tow firm - ha, like he needs a tow, oh yeah - and has himself a nip of medicinal brandy in the staff room while contemplating fourteen car payments outstanding.  Eventually, he wanders into the hospital's finance office.  He has a weak hope that he might flirt Mrs Higgs into helping him work something out to do with car payments and insurance.

He attempts a winning smile on her but she isn't looking;  she is tutting at some paperwork.  This is not unusual.

He saunters over to her desk and goes for a jaunty lean that doesn't quite work.  "Good day to you, Mrs Higgs."  He tries the smile again.  "You're looking radiant today."

"I'm looking hot and bothered, Dr Michaels."  She removes her glasses.  "Have you heard of a patient called Charles Xavier?"

Gus's stomach drops and his smile loses some of its blaze.

"Yes?"  He clears his throat.  "Yes.  He's the one the CIA got mixed up about.  They thought he was a ...  different ...  Charles Xavier."  Damn but that sounds weak.

"Are you certain about that?"

"Um.  Reasonably."  He reminds himself that Mrs Higgs is not as scary as Xavier's friend.  "Why?"

"I'm processing his insurance forms now he's being ...  " she peers through her glasses at the papers, " ...  sent to a rehabilitation center.  Oh, poor man.  Spine?"

"Yes, spine.  Yes."

"Crippled and so young.  Sad.  Well, I'm dealing with his insurance forms and they instruct me to charge his treatment to the CIA insurance program."

"Oh.  Oh really?  May I?"  He leans over slightly.

She folds the papers away from him and lowers her glasses again.  "That's privileged information, doctor,"  she chides.

"Sorry.  Of course.  Um.  Well, it was a CIA agent who bought him in.  So she would know what was appropriate.  I would just send the forms through, if I were you.  It's not really our business to question, uh, a government agency ...  of that sort.  They might not like it."

"This is finance, not spying."

"Still.  It's all in order, right?"

She peruses the paperwork once more.  "Yes.  As it happens, it's not the first time we've had to charge that particular program.  Yes, it seems to be in order."

Gus holds his breath.

"I'll put it through."

He releases it.

"I'll call them first to check, though."

Aargh!  Uh.  THINK.

"It's getting rather late now, isn't it?  You could call them tomorrow."

"Mm.  Yes, I suppose so.  That way I can finish off these other invoices today.  Hm."  She turns her full attention to him.  "So what can I do for you, Doctor?"

"Nothing.  I mean, something.  But I don't want to bother you now."  He starts to back out of the office.  "You're busy.  I'll come back.  It's not important."  He goes for the smile one more time.  "You have a great evening, now."

Son of a gun, she smiles back.  "You too, doctor."

Once out of sight, Gus turns tail and runs flat out to Xavier's room.

\---------------

It is only when he arrives there, and pauses to get his breath back, that he wonders what the hell he thinks he's doing.  This is not going to end well for him.  Aiding and abetting charges are looming in his future.  He should do what he should have done five days ago and tell the authorities what he knows.  Except that still carries the whiff of informing, of denouncing others in an attempt to protect his own hide.  He can't do it.

He could do nothing, though.  He doesn't have to warn them.  He could keep his head down, walk away.  That is definitely the smart thing to do.

His Mom once told him he was booksmart and she hoped it would serve him well because he didn't have the sense of a goose.  It seems he still doesn't.  He knocks and goes into the room.

The sister - sister? woman? female? whoever, she currently looks like the blond sister - is sitting beside the bed, Metal Man is on the end.  No-one seems to be having a cathartic moment.  No-one seems hostile.  He's not interrupting anything important.  They look at him.

He points his thumb over his shoulder.  "I just came from the finance office.  Agent MacTaggert put the CIA down as your insurer and tomorrow morning, Mrs Higgs is going to call them to confirm.  Unless she changes her mind and does it, well, anytime between now and five."

That lights a fire under them.

"We have to go now," says Metal Man.

Xavier looks at him, raises his eyebrows as though asking a question.

"England," says the sister.

The other two round on her.

"We've discussed this."

"We can't risk it."

She sticks to her guns.  "We need money.  Our money and bank are in England.  I'm betting yours," this to Metal Man, "are in Europe.  We have to go there first."

The other two exchange a look and nod.

Metal Man turns to Gus.  "Can he be moved?"

"Yes.  That's why they're adding up the final bill.  You're off to a rehab center.  There's some things to learn but you'll get the hang of them in no time."

"No time is right," says Xavier.  "We can't wait for that.  I'll have to do it later."

"You ...  you can't.  There's techniques you have to learn.  You need to learn your PT and catheters and wheelchair transfers ..."

"No time," says Metal Man.  "So you're coming with us."

"What?" says Gus.  

"What?" says Xavier.  

"No.  No, no, no."  Gus waves his index fingers in denial.  "Anyway, that's not my field."

"Erik, we can't force him."

Erik aims his words to Xavier while keeping his eyes on Gus.  "We can.  We need him.  And if we've forced him, he can come back with impunity."  The smile with which he says this does not reassure Gus.  Erik says to him, "Go and get what he'll need."

"You don't have to," says Xavier.  "We won't force you."

Gus isn't sure the two men are on the same wavelength.

"Three days," says Erik.  "Get him safely away to our destination, then you can return."  

Gus is pretty certain that was said for Xavier's benefit but he nods anyway.  Xavier is his patient.  And ... if he's honest, saying 'no' was more convention than reluctance.  There is a curl of emotion flowing up his spine, a mingling of fear and excitement.

Erik continues, "Raven, go with him.  Don't let him make trouble.  Bring him straight back here.  Go!"

They go.

Gus grabs a bag from the staff room and leads Raven to the store room.  He starts to pull things from the shelves when a hand stops him.  He looks at Raven.

"You don't have to do this," she says.  "Go now.  He doesn't have time to come looking for you.  You'll be fine."

"Yeah.  I should.  I ... don't want to."

She stares, shakes her head and stares again.  "You ... want to go with us?"

"It's crazy.  I know that.  I didn't tell ... Erik, is it?"

"Erik Lehnsherr."

"I told him, well, the truth, about my father and the government, and my commitment to my patients.  It's all true.  But I didn't tell him the deepest reason, 'cause I didn't think he'd much like it.  I've waited my whole life for an adventure to walk through my door.  I work in a hospital so you can't say my life is boring.  But it's not ... there's never been a real, exciting and scary adventure."

She looks at him doubtfully.  He shrugs.  How can he explain?  As a kid, he soaked up tales of heroes, champions, knights.  He'd been Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers, Sir Lancelot and Robin Hood, playing with his friends on the streets in the dusk.  His most favourite books had been about Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, boys like him who made fine adventures for themselves.  He'd even wished he were old enough to be a soldier and get some glory in the wars.

Then the soldiers had come home.  Most of them had come home.  They weren't all ...  complete.

As though she can read his thoughts, she says, "People get hurt on adventures.  Two men are dead, one bad, one good.  Charles is hurt, so are the others."

"I get that.  But hey, I'm a doctor.  All the more reason to have me along.  And I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering what happened next."

"You wouldn't.  Believe me, one way or another, those two are going to make news."

Gus shrugs helplessly.  "I want to be part of this.  Even if I'm not even a sidekick, just support staff.  Can't I?"  The old longing for adventure has not died, it just got put away in the attic along with the other treasures of childhood.  Now he unpacks it and finds it still vivid, if softened with an understanding of the dangers involved.  He'll settle for being a bit player.

Her body flutters and she is blue and red and gold.  It's wonderful, amazing; is it magic?  He doesn't believe in magic but whatever it is, it's just as glorious.  She studies him.  A smile rises up her face.  "You're crazy.  Welcome to the team.  What's your name?"

"Gus."

"I'm Raven."  She offers her hand.  They shake and Raven flickers back to her blonde look.  They pack two bags and sneak back to Xavier's room.

\---------------

The journey is a lot less eventful than Gus had vaguely presumed.  Everyone is tense, but nothing goes wrong.  He guesses Mrs Higgs held off her phone call.  

A wheelchair had already been picked out for Xavier, courtesy of the currently oblivious CIA.  Gus brings it to the room.  The others pause, stare at it, a reminder of the massive change that's being pushed under the rug just now.  Gus, though still saddened by such things, is used to them, and issues instructions to get them over the hurdle.  

Lehnsherr picks up Xavier and places him in the chair.  He squeezes his shoulder, Raven touches the other.  Xavier looks up at them both and smiles.  "At least I can move around now.  Let's go.  There's everything to do; a world to change."  His eyes meet Lehnsherr's.  "One way or another."

Lehnsherr carries the wheelchair down the stairs with his odd power, the elevator being unaccountably out of commission.  They are picked up in front of the hospital by two cars holding four young people.  Much younger than the three with him.  One of them looks rather odd, and all of them look to be under strain.  Gus looks at them while they look at him, and he feels surer of his choice.  

They take a long night drive to the Canadian border.  Gus travels in one car with Raven and Lehnsherr in the front, he and Xavier behind them.  On the journey, he learns about mutants, about their abilities and their recruitment by the CIA, their battle with Shaw, their betrayal by the government.  

"It was not ...  what I wanted," says Xavier.  "That we should have to fight other mutants, especially so soon in our history.  But we couldn't let him force the war.  His plan was ...  insane."

"His plan was insane," said Lehnsherr, "but his beliefs were accurate.  Humans will try to destroy mutants.  We have to be ready to win the war."

"That is Erik's opinion.  Mine is that we can live in peace."  He looks at Gus.  "You're proof of that.  You don't hate us, you've even protected us.  Moira protected us.  Peaceful coexistence is possible."

"He's an oddity," says Lehnsherr.  "And MacTaggert had a crush on you."

"She did not."

"Charles."

"Maybe a small one.  But she wouldn't be disloyal to her duty just for that."

Raven is staring out into the night.  She says, "No, she wouldn't.  But yes, she would.  I swear, you two know nothing about women.  How do you manage on that score, Gus?"

"I'm not married.  I do OK, though."

They walk across the border far from the road.  Lehnsherr _carries_ the cars, though it leaves him sweating and tired.  The one they call Hank carries Xavier, while all the young people cast doubtful, suspicious or calculating looks at Gus.  

Back in the cars, they drive to Toronto International airport.  Xavier and Lehnsherr purchase eight air tickets to the UK, though Gus could swear there's something hinky about the transaction, and then Gus does what he can to get his patient ready for a long flight.  They wait, Xavier and Lehnsherr calmly reading and trading newspapers, the others edgy or drooping, until at last they stumble onto a plane.

Gus gets a seat next to Xavier, who passes out before they even take off.  Gus reckons this is a fine idea but asks the stewardess to wake him in four hours, so he can check on his patient, before he follows suit.


	12. Wherein Charles and Raven come home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : The Rolling English Road by GK Chesterton is not mine. It is probably still under copyright. I am not making any money out of it.

**Hank**

Darkness hides the Old World countryside.  Hank, Sean, Alex and Angel are in the second of two rental cars, heading towards Redbearn Manor, the Professor's family home.  Hank looks out the window.  What he sees in the headlights and moonlight, he would have to describe with the words 'quaint' and 'picturesque'.  Small, old houses, tiny fields with shadows of livestock or single huge trees, the spire of a small church just silhouetted against a deep indigo sky.

They slow and pull onto a grass verge.  The headlights show a sign saying 'Lyrham St Bridget'.  The car in front goes dark.  Alex, who won rock-paper-scissors to drive, switches off the engine and says, "One of you go ask what's happening."

Hank immediately opens his door and gets out.  The others stare at him and Sean says, "Hey, are you sure?"

Hank laces his fingers and stretches himself straight until several bones crack.  "Oh yeah," he says.  "It's dark and I gotta stretch my legs.  I've been cooped up in there way too long."  

He jogs to the front car and it really does feel good to move.  Even in his lab, he was never a sedentary person, always flitting from bench to board to tools to bench.  He sniffs the night-time air and late autumn scents come to him.  He can see better in the night too.  All his senses have strengthened since his change, by a factor of three, he estimates.

He knocks on Raven's rear window.  The Professor is sitting next to her, fingers to his temple so Hank guesses he's using his powers.  Mr Lehnsherr is driving, not a huge surprise, and Dr Michaels is in the passenger seat.  Raven drops the window.

"How're we doing?" Hank asks.

"Almost there," says Raven.  "Charles is just checking for spies.  Then it's about a mile through the village.  How're you guys holding up?"

"We're good."  He kneels.  "Angel and Alex ran out of insults after the first hour so we listened to the radio until we got onto these switchback roads.  I swear whoever built them was drunk."

Raven laughs.  Then she chants, "

Before the Romans came to Rye or out to Severn strode,  
The rolling, English drunkard made the rolling, English road.  
A reeling road, a rolling road that rambles round the shire,  
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire.  
A merry road, a mazy road and such as we did tread  
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

Though," she continues, "that last line only makes sense if you know the geography of England.  They're in opposite directions."

Hank laughs.  "That sure fits."

Dr Michaels says, "I like that.  Is there more?"

"Three more verses.  It's by GK Chesterton.  I'll tell you all of it later, if you want."

"Yeah," said Hank, "the others would like it too.  These hedges around make it like driving in a tunnel and I can't believe there's just one lane.  What are we meant to do if someone comes the other way?  I think Alex wishes he let someone else drive."

Just then, the Professor clicks his tongue.  "Cheeky sods," he says.  "They've broken into the gatehouse; two of them keeping watch.  No-one in the grounds themselves, though."

Hank's mood drops and to his dismay he feels the remnants of his fur prickle, like it's trying to stand up in fear.  "There's people looking for us?  Here?"

The Professor opens his eyes.  "I'm afraid so.  Not to worry. They're tired and they think they're on a pointless assignment.  I'll nudge them in the direction of a quick pint at the Greenman."

He closes his eyes again.  Mr Lehnsherr jerks his thumb at Hank to return to his own car.

Ten minutes later, they are off again.  After only a few minutes, they come to a small house beside a large pair of gates, beyond which a road winds away through woodland.

Mr Lehnsherr holds one hand out of his window.  He doesn't move for a moment, then he turns his hand ninety degrees, flattens his palm and pushes.  Hank hears the clank of a lock and the gate swings open.  They drive through and, with a reverse of his first gesture, Mr Lehnsherr closes and locks the gate behind them.

Half a mile through night-time woods, they come out in front of huge mansion.  Another one.  Hank has to hand it to the Professor, he comes through on the accomodations.  He wonders just how rich the Professor's family are.  He wonders if the Professor is actually some kind of lord. 

It's hard to tell in the dark, but he thinks this mansion isn't as high as the one in Westchester but is wider, more rambling and maybe older.  The style looks a little disjointed.  Maybe.  Architecture is not his strong point.  

They drive around the house and find an assortment of other buildings, wood and stone.  The Professor directs them to an old barn to stow the cars.  Again, Mr Lehnsherr tumbles the lock.  This time, Hank offers his strength to help move the heavy, ancient wood doors.  They creak open like a horror film soundtrack.  Hank jumps when something streaks past his head.  A bat, probably.  No big deal.  He thinks he may even have heard the squeak.  He wonders if Sean can go ultrasonic.  

"This is creepy," says Alex, looking round as they collect their bags.

Raven points to the hayloft with her flashlight.  "We used to hide from Cain up there."

"Who's Cain?"

"Our step-brother," answers the Professor.  "A nasty piece of work, I'm sorry to say.  He wasn't around much, though, he was older than us."

They approach the house from the back.  A shriek echoes through the night.  They all jump and cast around for the source, except the Professor who says, "Owl."

"That wasn't an owl!" protests Angel.

"Ssh!" says Mr Lehnsherr.

"Owls," whispers Angel, "go 'Tu-whit, to-whoo'."

"Barn owl," says the Professor.  "They go 'Eek'."

Sean has been studying the house, "It isn't haunted, is it?"

"Barely," says the Professor.

Sean and Angel look a bit unnerved while Alex rolls his eyes but then looks uncertainly at the Professor.  Hank, shielded by science, knows a joke when he hears one.

"I'm never going to be able to sleep here," says Sean.

"The beds are comfortable," says Raven, "and you get a room all to yourself.  Unless you'd feel more comfortable sharing.  In case the Headless Monk does his rounds tonight."

"That's not true, is it?" asks Sean.

"Of course not," says Alex.  "There's no such thing."  He looks back at the Professor.  "Right?"  The Professor merely smiles faintly.  Alex looks back at the mansion, straightens his back and says, "Right."

Sean edges a bit behind Hank.  Hank's not sure if that's a compliment but figures he might as well take it as such.

They go inside through the kitchen door.  The house is completely closed up, windows are shuttered, the electricity and water turned off, dust sheets cover the furniture.  They pull a dust sheet off the kitchen table and sit on the benches to share out the last of the food.  

The kitchen is a big room, with an old-fashioned range on one wall and a dresser on another.  There are cupboards and doors leading, Hank guesses, to a pantry and maybe a scullery, although he isn't sure what a scullery actually is.  There's a deep, ceramic sink and a long, wooden work surface.  The eight of them fit comfortably at the table.

"How long has it been since anyone lived here?" asks Mr Lehnsherr.

"About twelve years," answers the Professor.

Mr Lehnsherr looks around.  "So someone comes in to keep the dust down?"

"Every three or four months, a couple from the village come to sweep and let in some air."

"Do you have any idea when they are next due?"

"None.  Would you say it looks like three months worth of dust on the floor?"

Mr Lehnsherr shrugs.  "Anyone else likely to turn up?"

"Poachers in the woods.  Other than that, I don't think so.  The place is empty, there's nothing to steal."

"The barns aren't."

Raven says "It's all junk.  Rusty or cracked or broken junk."

"If anyone wanted to steal anything," says the Professor, "they'd have done it years ago."

Angel asks, "Is it safe for us to be here?  There's men at the gates and cleaners any time.  Wouldn't we be more anonymous in a city?"

"Perhaps," says the Professor, "but in the centre of Oxford, Raven and I risk meeting any number of people who might know us.  Also, this is free and we have approximately," he looks at Mr Lehnsherr, "how much money did you say?"

"Five shillings."

"How much is that?" asks Sean.

"A dollar."

"Which we'll use to buy breakfast," says the Professor.  "Then I get to the bank or we're broke."

"Oh."

They finish eating in silence.  Hank can see he isn't the only one fading.  The last few weeks are catching up on them - the attack on the CIA facility, training, the battle with Shaw, the nervous days after, and now the long journey here.  And it's not over yet, he thinks, too tired to even feel downcast at the thought, just resigned and weary.  They still have to find a permanent place to hide and rebuild.  There are still hard, edgy days ahead.  "Will it ever be over?" he asks softly, unaware that he has spoken until the Professor and Mr Lehnsherr answer together, "Yes."

They smile at each other and Mr Lehnsherr gestures for the Professor to continue.

"It won't be long now, Hank.  A month at the most.  We'll realise or transfer assets, travel to our final destination, then buy a big tract of land where we can do whatever we want in complete privacy."  He quirks a smile.  "We'll be settled by Christmas, or soon after."

"And then?" asks Angel.

"And then we decide what it is we want to do.  And that may be the same for all of us or it might be different.  One thing Erik and I are certain we want to do is have Hank rebuild Cerebro, so we can gather more mutants together and give them all a safe place to live and to learn."

That's a vision Hank can get behind, so he nods and smiles, then stifles a huge yawn.

"Time for bed, then," says the Professor, smiling at him.

"Yeah," says Hank.  "Are there any?"

"Any number.  But not made up.  There should be linen, though, if anyone can be bothered.  Otherwise, just throw on your blankets.  We ...  we won't be here many days."

He looks a little sad as he says it.  Hank remembers this was his childhood home.  He understands the feeling.  His childhood home is so very far away and he fears he won't ever return to it.  He won't ever see his Mom and Dad, sitting together on the porch swing, looking out over the land they farm.  He won't see his little sister again, won't make her laugh by swinging from branches, catching her hands and swinging her with him.

Then the Professor spins his wheels backwards to move away from the table and carefully tries to rotate the chair towards the door.  At least three people reach out to help.  Hank wonders why Mr Lehnsherr is not one of them.  The Professor holds up his hand.  "No.  Let me learn to do this."

"If you'll let me come with you," says Dr Michaels, while the Professor works out the maneuver and executes it pretty well, "we can deal with business and you can learn to do that too."

The Professor grimaces but nods.

Michaels open the kitchen door and the Professor goes part way through then stops.  Hank sees him rub his face with his hand, drop his head back and sigh.

"What is it?" asks Mr Lehnsherr.

"I forgot.  There are stairs."

Hank almost offers to carry him but Mr Lehnsherr gets up and walks over.  He stands in front of the Professor and does a weird mime, acting like he's holding something and pointing it first at the Professor's left shoulder then arching it over his head to the right.  "Arise, Sir Charles," he says, and the chair rises into the air.  They share a smile and Mr Lehnsherr tilts his head towards the door, sending the Professor through first and following after him.  The darkness enfolds them and the sound of footsteps fades.

"OK," says Hank.  "That's it.  No more self-pity.  If I start moping, you can whack me upside the head or," he shrugs, "pull my fur out with tweezers.  I may not love this body, but at least it all works."

Sean says, "When I saw him come out in that wheelchair," he shakes his head, "oh man.  I thought he was going to be fine, you know, and there he was.  I don't know what to say to him."

Raven gives him a whack on his arm.  "Say what you used to say, idiot.  His head wasn't hurt, or his hearing."

Sean nods and says, "Right.  Sorry."

Alex says, "I wonder what the stuff is he has to deal with."

"Ew," says Angel.  "Don't want to know."

"None of your business, so shut up," says Raven.

"All right, all right.  Hey, do you know where our final destination is?"

"Yeah.  But," Raven looks down and twists her fingers, "Charles and Erik don't want Gus to know."

Hank is surprised.  The others look confused too.  "Why not?  Do they think he's going to tell someone?"

"Do they think he's a spy?" asks Alex.

"No!  No."  She sighs.  "It's not safe for him to be with us.  And it's not fair that he should have to give up his life just because we need him."

Hank says, "I don't think he's unhappy about it.  He seems quite excited about everything."

"Yeah," says Sean.  "I mean, I haven't talked much to him, but he's not acting like he thinks he was kidnapped."

Raven sighs even more deeply.  "No, he's very excited.  He thinks this is all wonderful, a big adventure."

"So what's the problem?" asks Hank.

"It isn't an adventure!  People get hurt.  And this isn't his fight.  He'll be better off back where he was.  So when Charles can look after himself, he'll ... wipe all this from Gus's memory and send him back to the States."  

"What?"  Hank can't believe his newly-enhanced ears.  "Why wipe his memory?"

She spreads her hands.  "He can't tell what he doesn't know.  It's safer for him.  When they question him, he won't know anything.  They'll think he was kidnapped, kidnapped properly, and he won't get into trouble."

"He's OK with that?"

Raven looks down at the table.  "Um.  I don't think ... they haven't ... he doesn't know."  

Hank is shocked.  The others look troubled or uncertain.

Raven looks round at each of them.

"It's safer for him.  They're doing it _for_ him.  Charles feels bad about getting him involved and ... Erik doesn't want a human with us."

"That human," says Angel, "just gave up everything to help us."

"I know."

Sean says, "Aren't we meant to be getting humans to like us?  Other humans.  Normal h..."  He stops.  "Whatever.  We're meant to be building peace."

"I know."

Alex says, "That's a pretty big chunk of someone's life to take."

Raven is back to staring at the table.  Her voice is small.  "It's not so much."  She doesn't say it like she means it.

"It's days missing.  I'd freak out, wondering what happened, what can't I remember."

"I know!  What else is there?  Send him back to be locked up or face treason charges?  They _execute_ people for treason.  He doesn't deserve that.  And he can't stay, it's dangerous enough for _us_ and we have powers.  This is what's best for him."

"Maybe so," says Hank, "but it should be his decision."

The others agree and Raven says, "I know," one more time.

\---------------

They finish up the food.  Hank still doesn't feel full.  He thinks he might need a lot more food in this new body but he doesn't want to take more than his share.

"I'm beat," says Raven.  "Come on, I'll show you the bedrooms."

They walk up into the cold, dark house.

"Are there really ghosts?" asks Sean, shining his flashlight all round as they walk the corridors, some wood-panelled, some covered with dusty gold-patterned paper.

"Sure.  The Headless Monk, the Craven Cavalier, the Murdered Maid and a little girl who sits in the attic and screams."

"That's not funny, Raven."

Alex says, "You scared of ghosts, Banshee?"

"Hey, my grandma saw a ghost once."

"There's no such thing as ghosts," says Hank.

"Yeah?" says Angel.  "How many people would say there's no such thing as telepaths and shapeshifters?"

"It's not the same."

"How many things have scientists been wrong about?" asks Raven.

"Science doesn't get things wrong."

"They said nothing could live in the depths of the oceans or deep underground.  That the sun goes round the Earth."

"No _real_ scientist ever said that."

"I could introduce you to several _real_ scientists who would claim that single generation extreme mutation is impossible."

"They don't have the full facts," mutters Hank.

"No."  She bugs out her eyes.  "Like about ghosts."

Hank growls and the women laugh.  Alex smirks and Sean keeps waving his flashlight into every nook and cranny.

On a gallery above a wide, cornered staircase, Raven opens some doors.  "Do any of you want to share?  Not because of ghosts, just because."

Angel and Raven share, the rest of them split off into rooms.  Only the women bother to get sheets from the linen cupboard.  Hank lies on his bed, which is a lot bigger and more comfortable than the trashy hotel one, and remembers the journey with pleasure.  He walked among ordinary people and although he got a lot of funny looks, no-one ran screaming from him.  The make-up and the shaving are a pain but, again, he's probably better off than the Professor.  He falls asleep feeling better than he has for a week.


	13. Wherein Raven and Angel talk

**Raven**

Raven and Angel agree to share a room and a bed.  

"This was your room?" asks Angel, as she flashes her flashlight around.  The beam catches the curtain rails around the head of the bed, the shape of a triple-mirrored dressing-table under its dust cover, an empty bookcase, the doors of the dressing-room and the thick, ivy-patterned curtains that hide the window seat.

"Yep."  

"You hit the jackpot," says Angel.

"I did.  I couldn't have asked for a better family than Charles and Mom."

They start to make the bed with a sheet.

"Lucky.  Though, this isn't quite what I expect from the rich.  Big place, sure, but it's not luxurious, is it?  We had satin sheets on ..."

Raven gives a strangled scream.  "I swear, if you say 'on the submarine' one more time, I'll smack you with a pillow."

Angel grins.  "I'm just saying.  The man had opulent taste."

They put their blankets over the sheet and start to get changed.

"You know you're not going to get opulent if you stay with us, right?"

"Yeah, no kidding.  This place is so _cold_."  Angel takes a shivering breath and dives under the covers.  "Have the British ever heard of central heating?"

"Yes.  They just think it makes you weak."  Raven pulls on her nightshirt and slides under the the blankets.  "No-one lives here.  Why put heating in somewhere this big if no-one's going to use it?"

They fight over the covers until they find a peaceful settlement and snuggle down in the dark.

After a moment, "I'm not looking for opulent."

"What are you looking for?"

No answer.

"You have to decide soon.  Like, tomorrow night, at the latest.  Because then we're going on and they won't tell you where if they decide they can't trust you."

Angel is still quiet.  Raven can see okay in the dark, but there has to be some light to see by and the curtains are so thick that moonlight and starlight can't get through.

"What do you want?"

Angel growls.  "I don't _know_.  I don't have a big dreams like you all do.  I had a plan."

"What plan?"

Angel sighs, is quiet.  Then, "I was gonna save my money and learn how to be a jeweller.  And I was gonna have my own shop, selling my own designs.  I was going to be working, not struggling, and people were going to respect me because I have talent.  I was going to own my own business so no-one would look down on me and if they did I would say screw them because I would know that they were wrong."

She shuffles position.  "And I was going to have a house on the beach, with wooden floors and thick rugs and gorgeous, colourful rooms.  And a kitchen, almost like the one here, you know?  With a big table that everyone can sit round.  And the house would have a back porch and a long wooden jetty.  No boat, I'd just sit at the end and dangle my feet in the water.  And I would have a soft-top Thunderbird, or maybe a bright red Cadillac with leather seats.  And there's the outline of somebody, I don't even know if it's a man or a woman but they're kind and strong.  OK, so you can't plan for that but I hoped."

"That was my plan and I was going to make it happen.  I got good money at the club and I'd found the right course.  I'd started.  Then they came along and filled my head with dreams.  Xavier and Lehnsherr and Shaw.  And now that's all gone to hell, my plan's bust to pieces and I can't go home and ... .  What the fuck is left?  Hiding out in lowlife motels and drafty old houses?  Great.  Just fucking perfect."

Raven reaches out and touches her, strokes her shoulder.  " And it's not always going to be like this.  We'll find a better place.  Or build one.  It won't be luxury, but it'll be nice.  We can push them to find somewhere by the sea, why not?  And why shouldn't you be a jeweller?"

"Xavier and Lehnsherr don't need a jeweller."

"Why shouldn't they support you?  Charles will.  What does living in peace mean but getting on with our lives our way, live and let live?"

"See that's where the problem is.  I agree with Shaw and Lehnsherr."

"Don't lump them together."

"The things he said on the beach, Lehnsherr might have been channelling Shaw."

"They're different.  Erik isn't about getting power and money, he wants to protect..."

"Oh honey, don't fall for that flowery talk.  The first time I saw him he was in an _expensive_ suit and sipping champagne.  Trust me, he likes the good life.  And his plan?  To lead an army and crush his enemies.  That doesn't sound like power to you?  Do you see him stepping aside for someone else, joining someone else's bandwagon?  No.  Way."

"It's ... it's not the same."

"You still got a thing for him?"

" _No._   I ... respect him.  As a ... as the guy who keeps us safe.  The CIA would have us if it weren't for him."

"I know."

"I respect him as someone who'll fight for his beliefs, fight to defend us all.  That's not flowery talk, he'll do whatever it takes to keep us safe.  All mutants."

"I'm not saying he's not a better man than Shaw.  But he has the same view of the human race as Shaw.  Me too.  I think Xavier's got his head in the clouds.  I swear, Raven, the man knows nothing about the meaner side of people."

"You're underestimating him."

"You know him better than me.  All I know is, I can't have the life I want if at any time someone is going to come and burn my shop and beat the hell out of me just because of what I am."  She leans up on her elbow.  "I've already put up with shit for being a Latina and a woman and a stripper, I don't want to think what I'll get for being a mutant.  When they came to me in the strip club, Xavier made it sound so great.  Then it turned out saving the world meant being ordered about by people who despised us.  I got better treatment as a stripper."

"So that's why you went with Shaw?"

"That and I thought he would win.  I don't wanna die like all those soldiers."

"And that was worth helping him kill everyone?"

"Not every... ."  She sighs.  "Better them than me."

They are quiet for a while.

"So what are you going to say tomorrow?"

"I don't know."

"If you want to stay, you gotta give them a good reason.  They want to know you're not going to run off after the next powerful person to come along."

"I know that.  I'm not.  I don't think anyone could take these two.  But I don't know if I want to stay.  Like I said, you all have these great dreams, that's why you're here.  Xavier wants Peace on Earth and Lehnsherr wants to win a war.  You want to live openly, Alex and Sean want to be SuperCops and Hank wants to be SuperScientist.  And not blue.  I just want..."  She sighs.  "I don't know anymore."

"If you want to be powerful, Charles can help you train your powers the best."

Angel is quiet for a while.  "I don't know if I want to be powerful.  I think I want to be safe.  I want respect.  I want to have enough, and not have to worry about money."

"That's a good dream.  But you're right, I don't know if it fits here."  She thinks.  "If you could dream big, what would it be?  If you could dream for the world, or at least one part of it, what would you want to make happen?"

"I don't know."

"If you figure something out, then maybe you'll have a reason to stay.  Otherwise, I'll ask my Mom to help you.  She can help you do a jewellery course and loan you some capital to start up."

"Yeah right."

"It won't be the first time she's done it.  It's not philanthropy, it's a tax thing.  Tax here is crazy.  She's always looking for ways to get around it.  She only lives about half the year in the country."

Angel huffs a laugh.  "The cross of the rich, huh?"

"Don't ever get her started."

"You know, I don't think Shaw had problems being rich.  On the submarine ..."

Raven screams and whacks her with a pillow.


	14. Wherein Charles is frustrated and Erik is a friend

**Charles**

Charles wakes up wet, and viciously curses Russians, Americans, bullets and helmets.  He hauls himself off the bed onto the wheelchair, takes some fresh clothes to the en suite and tries to get cleaned up and changed by torch light.  It takes too bloody long but he manages and doesn't know whether his satisfaction in the achievement is justified or pathetic.

He starts to strip the bed.  Erik made the bed for him last night while he was in the bathroom with Michaels.  If he were able-bodied, he would be touched by the gesture.  As it is, he tries not to let it make him feel useless because he knows it was only meant kindly.  Erik isn't acting as though he thinks Charles is fragile or brain-damaged or a stranger, as the others are, as the stewardesses and most of the airport staff did.  Erik and Michaels are the only ones carrying on as though Charles is still ... still a man.

He manages to get the covers and undersheet off and finds the waterproof sheet that Michaels brought from the hospital.  Erik must have put it on.  Which means that Erik knows that he ...  that he hasn't the control of a child.  That's humiliating but he can't get angry because the damn thing has been very much needed, it's saved his mattress from stinking of urine and him from having to change bedrooms and explaining and oh God, he hates this, he HATES - .

He will not cry.  His arms are wrapped round his body and his teeth are clenched.  He will not scream.  He will not cry.  This is ...  what it is.  He will have to get up in the middle of each night, as Michaels suggested, and deal.  It's not so bad really.  It could be worse.  They explained that.  He is really quite lucky, all things considered.

He forces himself to relax, ball up the sheets and wheel out into the corridor.  He can wash his own sheets, at least.

Except, of course, he can't.  Because the laundry is downstairs.  

He sits at the top of the staircase, looking down at it and feeling blank.  It simply can't be possible that he is trapped up here until Erik or Hank appears to carry him down.  What if they are attacked?  What if there is a fire?  It is ridiculous that a _staircase_ can foil his plans.

He could, he supposes, get out of the chair and let himself gently down the stairs.  He tries to visualise that but keeps seeing himself 'tripping' over his legs and falling.  There is the bannister, though.  He used to slide down it all the time when he was little and got into a lot of trouble for teaching Raven how to do it when they returned here.  

It's a stupid idea.  If he falls and breaks several more bones, Erik will start treating him like a child and he'll deserve it.  In fact, Erik would probably leave in disgust.  That thought almost sways him away from the stairs.  Set against it, though, is the idea that he must find a way to manage this.   He cannot be beaten by a flight of stairs.  He really will be useless if he can't handle something as basic as this.

He tosses the sheets over the bannister, watching them billow down through the dark.  He has a moment of amusement over what Sean might say if he saw them fluttering in the dark - proof of ghosts? Then, with a lot more effort than he anticipated, he pulls himself up onto the bannister, leaning over slightly, carefully trying to find his balance.  He starts the slide, controlling it with his hands, going slowly and compensating for his legs dragging along behind.  

He almost falls over at the corner, allows himself to fall towards the stairs instead, holding on tight to stop himself banging down on his still healing wound.  He hauls himself back up and manages the rest of the slide.  He bumps down gently at the bottom and feels about ten years old again.  A ten year old, however, with an adult's capacity for fully appreciating what a stupid, pointless risk he has just taken.

He then realises the extra flaw in his plan, to whit, that the wheelchair is still at the top of the stairs.  Still, the worst is over, he can drag himself along to the laundry room.  He lugs himself to the sheets, balls them up, and starts the long, hard journey.

By the time he reaches the top of the five stairs that lead down to the laundry room, he is sweating, his arms are aching and his wound is burning.  Also, the sheets and his pyjamas are rather dusty.  He's glad he doesn't have asthma.

He takes a break to pant and then sits up and swings his legs onto the steps.  He tosses the sheets ahead of him and slowly bumps down each step, his wound complaining each time.  At the bottom, he drags himself across the tiled floor until he finally reaches the old stone sink.

Which is too high.

He looks up and sees an old bag of soap flakes.  It is on a shelf far, far beyond his reach, even were he in his chair.

Failure settles inside him and his spirit falls into a deep well.  He sits back against the sink cupboard and drops his face into his hands.  

\---------------

Someone is watching him.  Erik.  He doesn't raise his head.

After a moment, he feels Erik sit next to him, a shoulder settling against his own.  There is silence again.

After a while, Charles notices that the silence feels less oppressive than when he was alone, and his spirit indicates that maybe the well isn't too deep to bear.  He raises his head and turns to Erik who is sitting with one knee drawn up and his arm resting on it.  Erik stops gazing into space and returns his look.  They are both shadowed and lit by two torches.

After a moment, Charles says, "How did you find me?"

"I heard something and when I came to check, I saw your wheelchair at the top of the stairs.  After that I followed the tracks in the dust.  I was worried."

"Sorry."

"Don't be.  Why did you do it?"

Charles sighs and looks down.  "I felt trapped.  By the stairs.  By everything.  It doesn't seem possible that it's all gone.  I keep forgetting.  It seems inconceivable that they won't," he gestures at his legs, "get on and do what I tell them.  I wanted to achieve something ...  simple.  Just wash my own sheets."  He blushes at the reminder, wincing to know that Erik now knows.  "I didn't want ...  I don't want to spend my life waiting on other people's kindness.  I don't want to be sitting around while you and the others go into danger and then have to be a burden to you when you return."

"Don't be absurd.  Charles."  After a moment, Charles meets his eyes.  "I don't listen to you because of your remarkable ambulatory ability."

The corner of Charles' mouth twitches.

"I didn't become your friend because of your charming gait.  And I've seen better legs in silk stockings."  

The twitch becomes a small smile.  

"It isn't hard to help ...  someone I like."  Erik looks down.  "A friend."

Charles swallows and looks at his feet.  "You're kind."

"I'm really not."

He laughs.  "Raven told me, when we were back in Oxford, that she was my only friend.  Maybe I don't have much experience."

"More than me.  We'll learn."

Charles nods.

They are silent for a moment.  Then Erik says, "So how were you planning to do this with no water?"

He looks up at the sink.  "I don't think I'd thought that far.  There's a well behind the copper."

Erik gets up to look, dropping the sheets in the sink as he does.  "A copper, a mangle, a scrubbing board.  All rather old-fashioned," he says, moving some of it out of the way.  "Why didn't they get rid of it when they bought the washing machine?"

"Mrs Kingsley liked to use the copper for huge washes.  She'd do all the shirts and the bedding and the underwear at once.  After she died, I suppose no-one got round to getting rid of it."

Erik opens the cover of the well.  He looks round, grabs an old bucket with a rope and lowers it down the shaft.  "So how does a rich boy know about the laundry room?"

"Full of prejudices, aren't you?"  Charles stretches.  "Ma was away a lot.  I lived here with Mrs Cliffe, she was the nanny, and Mrs Kingsley, the housekeeper, Edna the maid, Mr Hodge the gardener, and Donald who did all the man's work.  Mrs Cliffe took me everywhere she went, the laundry room, the kitchen, the scullery.  She thought I ought to know what they all did for me."

"How dangerously socialist of her."

"Indeed.  I think Ma would have fired her when she found out, but Mrs Cliffe already knew our secret, and Ma didn't want to risk anyone else learning about me."

Erik raises some water from the well, empties it into the sink and returns for another bucketful.  "Your telepathy?  You had it so young?"

"All my life.  They told me, when I was a baby, it was just waves of feeling, hunger, sadness, anger, fear.  Then later ...  you know how young children can understand words before they can form them?  I couldn't speak until I was four.  I just sent the words straight into their heads and never practised using my mouth.  Are you going to use cold water for that?"

"Do you want to do this?"

"Love to, can't."

"So shut up."  He reaches for the soap flakes.  "How did they make you speak?"

"They refused to do anything until I said it out loud.  I remember battering them with tantrums and they wouldn't budge."  He shivers.  November is not a month to sit around the laundry room without the fire on.  "So Mrs Cliffe knew, and Ma couldn't risk anyone else finding out.  I knew I wasn't to talk to other people that way, but I was so used to it with them that I couldn't," shiver, "couldn't have stopped.  And then in 1940 we went to America to wait out the war.  Mrs Cliffe stayed behind and Ma hired a tutor to replace her."

"No boarding school, then."

"Not until I was sixteen.  She was afraid I'd be found out.  As it was, Mr Knowles almost found me out himself.  I, er, used to cheat outrageously in the subjects I didn't like."

"What's telepathy for?"

"Ma didn't see it that way.  I caught hell for it.  But all the answers were just sitting there in his head, I didn't see the point of not using them."

Erik grins.  Charles shivers a bit harder.  He should have just left the sheets 'til the morning.

"After we came back, we still didn't have a big staff.  More when Ma and my stepfather were around, but that wasn't above half the time.  Raven and I had lots of places we could hide and practise using our abilities."  

He takes a moment to remember those days, finally having a friend, someone to share everything with, his house, his games, his books.  Someone the same as him.  He remembers ...  "Raven loved to perform.  We used to hide in an attic or out in the woods and she'd perform a poem or a soliloquy or something.  She'd work out the appearance of each character and act it all out.  You know 'The Goblin Market' by Christina Rosetti?"

Erik nods.

"She did a brilliant performance of that.  Each of the girls and different goblins.  She got some crushed berries and we did it out in the forest.  The only bad bit, as far as I was concerned, was the bit at the end where one of the sisters licks the berry juice off the other.  For dramatic purposes, apparently, I was the one who had to do the licking, which I felt was marginally the worse role.  So I borrowed a puppy from a local poacher and tried to use that on her at the appropriate moment.  She wasn't too happy.  She chased me through the forest in goblin form and we almost got caught by the gardener.  I think that was the first time I altered someone's memory.  Just enough to make him think he'd seen her normal."

He thinks.  "She hasn't done it in years.  She does do readings and scenes with her friend, Heidi, but no shapeshifting, of course.  I asked her once, a while ago, why she gave it up and she dismissed it as a child's game.  It wasn't true, but when I challenged her over the lie she just got cross with me.  I don't know why she stopped."  The shivering's almost constant now.

Erik drapes the wet sheets over a clothes horse.  "It probably hurt too much that she couldn't show off her talent to anyone else."

"She showed Ma sometimes."

"Not enough."  Erik summons Charles' wheelchair from the doorway.

Charles sighs.  "I wish I had your powers.  A set of metal leg braces and I'd be laughing."

"Get them.  My powers are at your disposal."

Charles raises an eyebrow.

"Sometimes."

Charles looks at the chair.  "Is this one of those times?"

Erik inclines his head and Charles raises up and settles in the chair.  

Erik says, "We'll get a new set of weights.  You need to increase your upper body strength.  Scheisse!"

"What?"

Erik pushes him forward and swears again.  Charles feels him gently touch his back over the wound.  "You're bleeding."

"I must have torn my stitches."

"Let's go."

Erik takes him back to his bedroom, settles him on his front and fetches Michaels.  Charles, by this time, is worn out, very cold, and the pain is frustrating his need to go to sleep.  A couple of blankets settle over him - Erik looking after him again.  He drifts while Michaels checks his back and gives him a shot of local anaesthetic.  The pain starts to fade.  His eyes keep closing.  He listens to Erik and Michaels talking, using their ears and thoughts when his own don't seem to work so well.

"Will he be all right?"  

Erik is worried.  He shouldn't worry Erik.  Erik has enough to be bothered about.  

"I'm fine, Charles.  Just look after yourself."

"He'll be fine," says Michaels.  "I'll just redo his stitches."  

Michaels is a nice chap.  Glad they bought him.  Be much harder without him.  

"Yeah, just remember that next time you're testing your limits.  Do it during the day so I can get a good night's sleep."

OK.

He slips off to sleep.


	15. Wherein there is breakfast and Gus learns about the past

**Gus**

Gus wakes up and wonders what's wrong with his bedroom.  Then he tries to think where the heck he is.  Is he at the medical conference?  It's not his style to wake up in a strange place.  Then he remembers.

Woah.  

Oh boy.

Hot damn!

He flails around for his glasses.  His knuckles hit something solid and he pats the top of the bedside table until he finds his specs.  He slips out of bed, shivers a bit when the cold air hits.  The cold reminds him of his student days.  He feels about the same now as he did that first year of med school - out of his depth and buzzed about everything.  

There's a little light coming in through the chinks in the heavy velvet curtains.  From the strength of it, Gus guesses it's a beautiful day.  He doesn't open them.  Lehnsherr said the house has to look the same from the outside, in case the watchers come up the drive to check.

He dresses in borrowed clothes and goes to check on his patient, who's still asleep.  Then, with no idea of the time, he goes to the kitchen and finds Raven, Hank McCoy and Lehnsherr, sharing some water from a canteen.  Lehnsherr is in his typical turtleneck, chinos and jacket, McCoy is in loose sweats, Raven is in her own form.  And nothing else.  Gus is fine with Raven being blue.  He's kinda embarrassed about the naked.  He tries not to stare.  

"Morning," he smiles.

Raven greets him brightly, McCoy shyly and Lehnsherr merely offers a nod.

"There's no breakfast yet," says Raven.  "We finished everything last night.  I was about to go down to the village shop."

"Are the watchers still at the gate?"

"Probably, but I'll cut across the park and go over the wall near the churchyard."  Then she changes.  The ridges on her skin flicker and from feet up, she becomes a tiny, middle-aged woman dressed in a blouse and trousers, with brown hair in a bun, an elfin face and bright blue eyes.  She pulls on a warm coat, picks up a basket from the corner of the kitchen and Lehnsherr drops the last coins into her outstretched hand as she passes him.  She waves to them from the door and runs away.

Gus swings his arms and says, "Anything I can do?"

"Have you checked on Charles?" asks Lehnsherr.

"He's still asleep."

"Then check Hank."

Gus and McCoy look at each other in surprise.

"Uh, I'm fine," says McCoy.

"Your body underwent a massive change," says Lehnsherr.  He turned to Gus.  "Check him over."

"OK, I'll just get my bag."  He runs up the stairs and back again, puffing a little by the time he arrives.  "Whoo.  This place'll keep you fit.  OK, let's see."  He sits down on the bench beside McCoy, opposite Lehnsherr, and goes through basic checks and questions.  There is, he sees, a lot of blue stubble on McCoy's arms and this close he notices ...  "Are you wearing make-up?"

McCoy looks away and scratches at his arm.  Some of the thick coating comes off on his claws and Gus sees blue skin underneath.

Lehnsherr says, "You don't have to put that stuff on while we're here.  Only when we're travelling."

"I want to."

"It's a mask.  You're lying to yourself."

McCoy won't look at either of them.

Gus looks between them.  "Um, Mr McCoy ..."

"Doctor," says Lehnsherr.  "He has a doctorate in ... engineering, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"OK.  Dr McCoy..."

"Call me Hank."

"Hank.  I'm Gus, by the way."  He holds out his hand.

The younger man looks up at him and gives a little smile, which Gus returns with a bigger one.  They shake.

"Hank, if you're comfortable, will you tell me what this massive change was?  I need to know what to check for.  Though, let's face it, being a doctor to all of you is probably going to involve a lot of guesswork."

Hank takes a moment then nods and looks down at his hands.  He clenches them, thumbs inside his fists and Gus realises he's hiding his claws.  He sits, turned towards him, waiting quietly.  It seems to him the best thing he'll be able to do for this patient is listen without judgment. 

So that's what he does as Hank tries to lay out what happened.  He watches him struggle to express the isolation, the hopes and fears that drove him to the experiment that changed him.  Hank suddenly looks straight at Gus, who sees in his eyes the desperation of that night as Hank explains that he knew deep down that what he was doing was dangerous, that he hadn't taken enough time over making the serum.

"I should have asked the Professor for help.  He's the biologist and geneticist, I've always been more into engineering and physics, chemistry, you know?  I was just ...  afraid that he'd refuse.  I knew he'd say there was nothing wrong with what I was and that I should ... just accept it."  He looks back at his hands.

In his peripheral vision, Gus sees Lehnsherr open his mouth so he kicks him hard under the table and gives a little shake of his head.  Hank is too sunk in misery to notice.

Eventually, Hank heaves a great sigh.  "He was right.  I should have accepted what I was.  And now I've got to live with what I am.  I realised last night, it could be worse."  He looks back at Gus.  "I'm whole.  Seeing the Professor now ... well, I'm whole.  And I may not be able to go out for groceries but ... hey, I never got out that much anyway.  I could spend days in a lab, just so focused on what I was building.  And sometimes I'd find food on a table that someone had brought for me and given up trying to make me eat it."

Gus laughs.

Hank smiles then looks at Lehnsherr.  "So I'm OK with it.  I will be.  And it went well on the journey, didn't it?"  He looks between them both.  "The shaving and the make-up can work, when I need to go out."

Lehnsherr looks exasperated.

Gus says, "Well, it would certainly work best for going out.  If the alternative is, um, blue fur?"

Hank nods, scratches his chest.

Gus is kicked in the shin.  "But I'd think it would be a hassle every day."

"Right, not every day.  Just for going out."

"You'll itch like hell when it grows back."

"Tell me about it."  Hank is now scratching his arm with one hand and his neck with the other.

"Guess I'd better keep in supplies of calamine lotion."

Hank laughs.

"Hank..." says Lehnsherr with disapproval in his voice and face.

Hank scowls at him.  "I know you don't like it but you're not the one living with it.  Hey, good news, you can if you want.  We've still got Raven's dose of the formula.  Boost your powers and stop looking human, all in one.  Go on, if it's so great."

Lehnsherr says nothing.

"I didn't think so."

"I understand what you've lost.  Your life is harder, yes, and I wouldn't do that to myself now.  Being able to blend in, masquerading as one of them is necessary, for now.  Just remember it's their problem, not yours.  You have nothing to be ashamed of, you shouldn't wish yourself different.  You are better than them, stronger, faster ..."

"Less in control."  There is a growl under his words.  "And I have to go to the _pet shop_ for my bathing needs."  He suddenly looks appalled.  "Oh. God."  He turns to Gus.  "You don't think I'll get fleas, do you?"

Gus grimaces.  "It's not ... impossible."

"Oh.  God."  He buries his face in his hands.

Lehnsherr kicks him hard again and scowls something frightful.

Gus waves his hands. "Sorry.  It's a possibility.  Though -," he turns to Hank and pats him on the shoulder.

Hank shifts a finger and one eye looks at Gus.

"- I should point out I have had furless patients with fleas.  And pets without.  It's more a matter of maintaining a good hygiene regime, and it's not as though you're going to be fighting with stray mongrels."  A thought occurs to him.  "I mean," he looks at Lehnsherr, "this is part of the future for all of you.  New ... evolution means new requirements.  Helmets in hospitals and all-over brushing each day.  Owning a scrap metal yard for those angry days.  You can't just pretend it's all going to be peachy.  But it's sure going to be interesting."  He looks at Hank, who has dropped his hands and is looking thoughtful.  "Right?  Each new person is going to be challenged but every challenge will be fascinating."

Hank grins at him.  "Yeah.  It's going to be ... a lifetime project.  Wow.  So _much_ to learn and build."  He stares off into space, little stars shining in his eyes.  "Wow."

Gus grins, just a little smugly, at Lehnsherr, whose eyes give him a reluctant seven.

Hank comes back to them.  "I think I'll go and rouse Alex and Sean.  I figure it's my turn."  He swings his legs off the bench, makes to go round the table then pauses.  He judges and makes a standing jump over right over the table and their heads.  They duck then watch him run out of the room, hear the thump as he lands at the top of the stairs.

"I hope the bannisters can take him swinging up them," says Gus.

"They can take wayward Professors sliding down them, so they can probably take exuberant engineers leaping up.  At least as long as we're here."  Lehnsherr swings back to Gus.  "Don't ever kick me again."

"Understood."

"We already told you about Hank on the way.  Why did you ask him?"

"You told me the facts, not the feelings.  He needed to talk about it."

Lehnsherr looks unconvinced.

"I've been around hospitals now for about twenty years."

Lehnsherr raises his eyebrows.

"No, no, I'm not unnaturally youthful.  I used to volunteer when I was a teen.  Anyway, I've learned that feelings have an effect on health and healing.  In general, miserable people get better slower than happy ones.  In fact, a friend of mine, who's a physical therapist, told me that sometimes you gotta sort out a patient's thoughts and emotions before you can do a scrap of good for their bodies.  And speaking of physical therapy..."

"No."

Gus gears up to have this argument again.  They've already run it in the car, at the airport and again last night.  "He needs it."

"Then help him."

"I don't know how, I'm -"

"Then learn."

"-not a professional therapist.  I can't just read a book and know how to do it.  It's hands-on discipline, it's like driving a car.  It doesn't matter if you know the theory, it's the practical ..." he waves his hand, "... practice that makes you any good.  I repeat, he needs sessions with a professional.  Then when he's learned it, he can do it himself."

"Then he'll have to wait.  It isn't as though he needs the muscle tone at the moment."

"You're not getting this, -"

" _You're_ not getting this."  

"- there are health implications ..."

"Your government wants to kill us.  They have tried once and they will keep trying, until we are dead, or until we smash them."  It's a little scary how calmly he says those words.  Lehnsherr continues, "They have influence all over the world, including in this country, which is why right now, MI5 agents are sitting at the gate waiting to catch us.  The only reason they're doing such a bad job is that they don't know yet what we are.  If they did, they'd be sending everything they've got against us.  

"So no.  We don't have the freedom to stroll around Oxford to find a physiotherapist.  We have to wait until we are somewhere far away where they're not looking.  Then Charles can have his therapy and Hank can grow his fur and Raven can stay in her true form."

"And what do you get?"

A savage smile appears and Lehnsherr says, "Then I get to plan how to crush your government and destroy your armies."

"Oh."  Gus nods slowly.  He takes a breath then can't think of anything to say.  He tries, "The Professor doesn't strike me as the crushing type."

"Not yet.  And you'd be surprised.  He's not so far from it as he thinks."

Gus thinks about this.  He doesn't know any of these people that well.  On the other hand, when you see people in the hard times of their lives, you see the best and worst of them.  They've been in hard times ever since he met them and they seem to be doing pretty well.  For sure, Lehnsherr is dangerous and Gus can easily imagine him doing some crushing and destroying - well, Gus's car would be exhibit A.  But Xavier?  Gus reckons Lehnsherr's doing some wishful thinking there.

A rather uncomfortable thought slides into his head.  Lehnsherr has just told him that he intends to do some considerable violence to America and is now watching him.  Does he really intend to go through with it?  Gus looks at him.  Yes.  He intends it, at least.  Isn't this the part where Gus should start planning his escape?  He only needs to get as far as the men at the gate, as long as he does it secretly.  

But Gus doesn't think the universe is going to make him the big hero who saves the day by the skin of his teeth.  He tries to suppress the horrible and, he tells himself, melodramatic thought that Lehnsherr told him all that because he intends to kill him.

And ... he doesn't entirely buy it.  "OK.  I think _you_ might do it, but I don't think he will.  Not until mutant blood is soaking the streets of New York.  He'd need something extreme before he could start crushing.  Yeah, he's more the sneaky type.  Don't you think?"  He waves one hand by his head.  "He'd try to ... put the mojo on people instead.  Hide, convince them that they just can't find you."

Lehnsherr gives nothing away but Gus reckons he's right.

"And you could try it without him, but I don't think you want to.  You're so sure it'll turn bad, that you think you just have to wait and he'll come round to your side.  Why're you so sure?"

"I've seen it before."

Gus waits but Lehnsherr doesn't expand, so Gus decides to throw out a thought he's been turning over since that first day in the emergency room.

"So, while you're planning destruction and mayhem, do you think you might spare some time for medical research?"

"What?"

Hah.  That threw him.

"Well, you know how ... well, I mean _you know_ , right? that living things generate magnetic fields."

"Yes, _I_ know."

"There's a little known field - ha, field - looking at the measurement of this bioelectromagnetism and how it's made and what it means, if anything, in terms of medical practice.  Can you use magnetism, like x-rays, to diagnose someone?  Would it effect someone's health in any way if you manipulate their electromagnetic field?  Would it have an effect physically, mentally?"  He throws it out there for Lehnsherr.

Lehnsherr stares at him for a moment.  "I can make it hurt."

"Not what I was looking for."

"I have no idea."

"Would you be willing to find out?"

"Certainly.  I think that would be very interesting."

"Mm.  I don't think you mean that the same way I do but we can work on it."

Lehnsherr nods as they hear the sound of several feet thumping on the stairs.

Then Alex shouts, "Come back here, you ... you mangy furball!"

Hank zooms into the kitchen and leaps the table.  They look at him.

He shrugs.  "Alex had some trouble getting up.  I helped."

Alex, Sean and Angel rush in, one after the other.  Angel is laughing and pulling on a too-big, grey sweatshirt.  Sean is barefoot.  Alex is dishevelled and damp and in the same clothes as last night.  Gus is reminded that these are young people, Alex and Sean are barely out of childhood.  Sean looks young this morning with bedhead and sleepy eyes.  Alex has yet to fully master personal grooming.  Not that it's so easy, the way they've been travelling.

"Hank, you..."  Alex growls and looks around.  "There isn't even any food yet."

"Raven should be back with some soon," says Lehnsherr.

"Is there even water?" asks Sean.

"If there's none in your canteen, you can have some from a very old well.  Or you can wait until Raven comes back with milk."

"I'll wait."  He sits down on the bench.  

"Can't we open the shutters?" asks Angel.

"No."  Lehnsherr gives her a narrow-eyed look.  "You didn't open your curtains?"

She rolls her eyes.  "No."

He turns to Hank.  "Did you wake up Charles with your pranks?"

"I ...  don't know," says Hank, looking worried.  "I'll go and check."

"I'll go," says Lehnsherr, getting up.  He gives a last look at Gus and leaves.

Hank looks dejected.  "Damn.  I didn't mean to..."

"Don't feel bad," says Gus.

"But..."

"No.  Listen, guys.  He's not sick, OK?  He doesn't have a disease rampaging around his body, he doesn't need all his strength to fight it.  He's injured, he hasn't fully recovered yet, but other than that, he's fine."

Alex is incredulous.  "He's fine?"

"Yeah, he's fine.  For a new value of fine.  Come on, none of you fit the physical norm, am I right?  So this shouldn't be hard for you.  His legs don't work, that's all.  Everything else is intact.  And being woken early by a bunch of boisterous teens ..."  Hank and Angel raise their hands, "forgive me, boisterous young people, is not going to hurt him anymore than anyone else.  It might make him grumpy.  Being British, it might make him sarcastic.  But it's not going to damage him.  OK?"

They nod.

"You'll damage him if you treat him like a baby.  You'll damage him if you don't understand that he is exactly the man he was.  So treat him just the way you used to.  And if that means annoying him and yelling at him and making trouble for him, then do it."  He raises his index fingers.  "Though, you understand I'm not actually advocating that kind of behavior."  He waves the fingers in a negative and they laugh at him.

"We never yelled at him," says Alex.

"Yeah, the Professor's cool," said Sean.  "He's been teaching us how to control our powers.  How to use them better.  Can you believe it? - he taught me how to fly."

"A plane?"

"No.  Just me."  And they trip over each other telling him the story of the flying lessons.  Gus is enthralled, though he notes that Angel is too.  Plainly, she wasn't around for this.

Gus is just showing proper incredulity - "He PUSHED you?" - when Raven comes in.

They all fall to unpacking the basket of food.  Bread, milk, butter, jam, apples, pears, dried fruit, cheese and a bottle of juice.  Hank searches all the cupboards in the kitchen and comes up empty-handed for plates, cups and cutlery.  Raven shrugs.  "Everything was taken to London.  If we ever wanted to live here, we'd have to ask Mom to bring it all back."

"Luckily, we won't need to," says Lehnsherr from the doorway.  He and the Professor come in and take their places at each end of the table.

"Good morning," says Xavier.  "I was just thrilled to hear you all keen to get on with the day."

The young people collapse into laughter.  Raven, Xavier and Lehnsherr stare at them and then exchange shrugs.  Xavier smiles, clearly happy that they are too, if a little suspicious.

"Good call, Doc," says Alex.

The three turn questioning looks at Gus.

"I suggested you might be a little sarcastic at being woken."

"Ah.  Good call, indeed."

They start their meal, handing round the bottles to drink from, and tearing off hunks of bread.  Lehnsherr produces a knife to cut the cheese and fruit.  Gus notices in passing it seems a strange design - a hunting knife?  Sean opens the jam then looks around, realising there's nothing to spread it with.  Lehnsherr offers him the knife, hilt first.  Gus feels his heart start palpitations.  There is a swastika on the hilt.

Sean takes the knife.  Gus sees the blade before Sean dips it in the butter.  There is an inscription in a Germanic script.  Blud und Ehre.  The motto of the Hitler youth.

His hands start to shake and his stomach is turning.  Could he have got it so wrong?  Lehnsherr is a German name.  Is he old enough?  Just old enough, Gus thinks, and now his rhetoric has terrible overtones.  Has Gus's prejudice against his own government sent him into the arms of a butcher and his new version of the Hitlerjugend?

"Doctor?"

His head snaps to Xavier, who is looking at him in concern.  "Are you all right?"

Gus remembers hearing that some British aristocrats were actually supporters of the Nazis and wanted to accept Hitler's offer of alliance.  How did these two meet anyway?

"Gus?  Sean?"

Gus looks at Sean who is staring at the hilt.  Their eyes meet and then they both look at Lehnsherr.

"Oh, God no!"  Xavier snatches the knife away.  They look at him and he meets their eyes as he says firmly, "No."

"It's a trophy," says Lehnsherr.  "I took it from a dead Nazi."

"Oh," says Sean.  "Sorry."  He stares for a moment then shakes himself and continues to spread the jam with his fingers.

Gus looks at Lehnsherr and, behind the calm expression, sees savage triumph in his eyes.  He has no doubts how the Nazi died.  He does still have some doubts on the other score.  He wonders more seriously than before if he can get to the men at the gate.

"Erik," says Xavier.

Lehnsherr meets his eyes and then nods.  He rolls up his sleeve.  There is a simple series of numbers tattooed on one arm.

Gus's fears drown in a rush of shock and pity.  "I'm sorry," he whispers.

Lehnsherr nods.  He rolls his sleeve down and turns back to his meal.  Alex, however, says, "What does it mean?"

They look at him.

"The number," he gestures to Lehnsherr's arm then catches his startled look.  "Well, if you don't mind me asking.  I just ...  .  Why did you choose that number as a tattoo?"  He glances at the Professor, back to Lehnsherr, starts to look nervous at their expressions of disbelief.

Gus gets that Alex is a kid and one who knows he's said something wrong.  Lehnsherr seems to get it too because he is patient as he says, "I didn't.  The Nazis chose it, when my family were taken to the concentration camp for being Jewish."

"Oh."  Alex flushes and drops his eyes.  "Sorry," he mutters.

Sean is flicking glances at Lehnsherr and the others are staring openly.  Lehnsherr ignores them all and gestures at Xavier for the knife.  Xavier tosses it gently and Lehnsherr guides it to his own hand and dips it into the jam.  Everyone else resumes their meal in silence.  Gus is eating more slowly.  A big piece of the puzzle has fallen into place and he wants to consider the picture as it now appears.


	16. Which concerns nudism

**Erik**

When most of the food has been eaten, Raven exclaims.  She is sitting between Charles and Angel, looking at her hand and shaking her head.

"What is it?" asks Charles.

"I forgot.  I keep forgetting that I don't need to look human all the time."  She shifts back into her true form.

"Raven!" Charles is looking away from her with an exasperated expression.

"What?"

"Would you please put something on?" he asks.

"Why?  What's wrong with this?"

"You're ..."

Erik supports her, surprised at Charles.  "She has nothing to be ashamed of."

"She's ...  "

Raven says, "I'm sick of hiding, Charles."

"I'm not ...  "

Erik says, "Why shouldn't she show her true self?"

"I'm not ...  "

Raven is getting angry.  "I want to be myself as much as possible."

"Fine!"

Erik gazes at him, waiting for some justification.

Charles looks at Raven then flinches away again.  "I'm talking about _clothes_ , Raven.  Actual clothes.  Because you are, in fact, _naked_ just now."

Raven looks down at herself.  "Oh.  That's what you were talking about."

Erik says, "Why should she have to cover up?"

Charles raises his eyebrows.  "You're part of the FKK?"

Erik smiles at that.

Alex looks surprised. "You're a Klansman?"

"Freikörperkultur," Erik tells him.  "It's the German naturist movement."

"You're a nudist?!"

Angel starts to laugh.  Sean and Alex are staring at him.  Erik just gives Alex a calm smile.

Alex thinks for a moment.  "Because I could go with that, if the girls are gonna do it too."

"Clothes, Raven," says Charles.

"You British are so prudish," Erik says to him.  "You think there's something indecent or dirty about nudity.  You can't seperate it from sex."  Is that a faint blush on Charles' cheeks?  "It's our natural state."  Yes, there's definitely more colour there.

Charles doesn't give in to embarrassment.  "It's a jolly cold natural state this time of year.  And I doubt these three," he gestures at Alex, Sean and Hank, "have your sophisticated attitude."

Erik looks at them.  They are lined up opposite the women and Michaels.  Alex is trying to look sophisticated but plainly can't decide where to put his eyes.  Sean is staring at his food and flicking what he thinks are covert glances at Raven.  Hank's eyes are nailed to his food.  

He looks back at Charles.  "I'll educate them.  When we're in Europe, we'll visit a bathhouse."

"We will?" says Sean, eyes now wide, staring at Erik.

"All ri-i-ight," says Alex.

Erik rolls his eyes.  "They're for swimming, saunas and exercise.  Nothing else.  There are men and women, adults and children.  Nudity is usually mandatory and after a few minutes, it becomes meaningless."

Alex is looking at him with some doubt.  "Meaningless?  That's not possible."

"It is."

"No.  No, I can't see that at all."

"Yeah," says Angel, " 'cause that would require you to be an adult."

Alex sneers at her.  Sean is looking stunned.  Hank, Erik notices, is shoving food into his mouth, head down, not looking at anyone.  Hank can't go to a bathhouse.  Though Erik has to concede, the fur would be as much of a problem as the humans.

"Uh."  Sean is back to staring at his food.  He casts a pained glance at Erik.  "You're not ... really gonna walk around naked, are you?"

Erik takes pity on him.  "No.  I'm not a nudist.  I don't walk around naked except in bathhouses, and you don't have to come, if it makes you uncomfortable."

Sean is relieved.  "OK.  Thanks."

Charles suddenly sits upright.  He stares into space.  "They're coming up the drive."  He puts his fingers to his temple.

Everyone is silent.

"They want to check that nothing happened while they were in the pub.  One of them's feeling a bit guilty.  The other thinks it's a waste of time."

"The cars are hidden," says Erik.  "The curtains and shutters _are_ all closed, aren't they?"  He looks around each of them and gets a series of nods.

"They don't intend to make too thorough a search.  If we're quiet, we should be all right."

Erik nods but goes to stand by the kitchen door, knife drawn.  The rest of them sit quietly.

Several minutes pass in stillness.  Most of the time, they can't hear anything.  Once, as Erik strains his ears, he thinks he hears a male voice call out, and perhaps an answer.  Then nothing.

After a while, Charles says, "They're going down the drive."

There are several sighs of relief.

"They're heading back to the gatehouse.  They're sure we're not here.  One of them is suggesting calling their superior and reporting nothing, in the hope that he'll recall them.  The other one's agreeing."  Pause.  "They don't think we're going to come here.  They've been told we're spies.  They have pictures of us.  Raven as a blonde.  They don't know her true form.  Hank as a brunet.  No pictures of Doctor Michaels.  They don't know about him.  There's another team in Oxford, they're to provide back-up, and vice versa.  They don't know anything else."  

He drops his fingers.  "As long as we stay out of sight and don't make much noise, we should be safe here for a couple of days."

"Not much longer, though," says Raven.

"Why?" asks Angel.

"Because Mrs Potter in the shop didn't know me, and I didn't rise to any of her oh-so-subtle questions, so she'll be asking everyone about me.  If I go out again, it'll get worse.  And every time I go out, I risk being spotted climbing the wall.  If those men pay any attention to the local gossip, they may decide to check the house."

"So do what you must today and we'll leave tomorrow," says Erik.

"What _do_ you need to do?" asks Michaels.

Charles takes a swig of milk and puts the bottle down.  "Let's sit outside," he says.

Erik is surprised.  "Outside?"

"It's a beautiful day, possibly the last of the year, and we've been cooped up in the dark for hours."  He wheels himself back from the table.  "They've gone, there's no reason for anyone else to be here and I'll sense anyone approaching.  I want to sit in the sun."

"Didn't you say there were poachers around?  I imagine they've been making free with your woods for years."

"And good luck to them."  He wheels round the table until he is level with Erik.  "We'll sit in the walled garden.  As its name suggests, it is surrounded by a wall.  No-one could see us without an aeroplane."

"They do exist."

"Um," says Hank, "I ...  I've found my hearing seems better than it used to be."

"Really?"  says Charles, distracted.  "How much better?"

"Enough to hear someone before they hear us.  Or to hear an aeroplane a long way away."

Erik gives in with a graceful gesture and they get up, the youngsters picking up the remains of the food to bring with them.  Charles approaches the door and flinches back as he comes face to body with Raven.  In a pained voice, he says, "Raven, _please._ "

"All right, Charles.  It is a bit cold out there.  I'll borrow some of Mom's."

"Ma has clothes here?"

"Her country clothes.  That's where I got the coat."

She goes back into the house.  Erik notices the disappointment on Alex and Sean's faces and decides perhaps Raven has made the right choice.

The walled garden is across the paved courtyard from the kitchen.  There are tangles of overgrown plants all across the ground.  Stone paths divide the earth into beds but vines and leaves spread across them.  In the middle of the garden is a cracked, mossy birdbath.  The high walls keep the November wind somewhat at bay and a stouthearted sun provides enough warmth to make a pleasant suntrap on the paved area near the garden door.  A crow calls in the distance; otherwise it is very peaceful.

Erik sits down on a bench against the wall in the sun.  Charles awkwardly manoeuvres into position beside him.  Erik doesn't offer to help, even when Charles stops and sighs in frustration.  He manages it in the end then tilts his head back and closes his eyes, enjoying the sun.  He is very pale and stirs an uncomfortable protective instinct in Erik, so he turns away.  

Sean settles down against the wall with some juice and a hunk of bread.  Erik remembers eating a similar meal many times around Sean's age.  Probably in the same position.  Angel stands looking out over the neglected garden, hugging herself and rubbing her arms.  Michaels and Hank squat near her, inspecting the plants.  Alex ranges back and forth, touching the stone, the soil, the plants.

Erik looks at Charles, who drops his head and meets Erik's gaze.  _So?_ asks Erik.  _What do you need to do?_

 _Good question._ He raises his head back again.  Erik can feel his pleasure in the sunshine and the moment's peace.  He turns his own face to the sun, looks out idly at the bare treetops far beyond the walls.  _We should go to our digs,_ thinks Charles, _and collect what we need.  I suppose we'll have to leave most of it._ And Erik can feel the regret in that thought.

 _You can always buy more later._

 _It's not just that._ Erik sees images of Oxford, of gowned scholars and students in the quads; of boats on the Isis with friends and picnic baskets; of late night scientific discussions with wine; of a lab, carefully organised beneath the chaos, filled with excitement and discoveries, current and hoped-for projects.  _I may not have been close to many people, but Oxford is home._ Charles looks at him.  _That doesn't mean anything to you._

 _No._ A memory surfaces, fuzzy images of a kitchen, small, clean, the smells of cooking.  He sat at the table, didn't he?  Practising writing, or ...  or was there homework?  The memory slips away.  Home is somewhere far away and lost.

 _Can I help?_

 _No.  Let it stay gone.  All you could do is make me ... ._ He can't find the word for the twist of emotions, knows Charles can see them, saving him from saying it.

 _Is it so bad to remember?_

 _It ...  isn't useful._

Charles isn't convinced but accepts.  _It would probably have been easier to go on if we hadn't come here, I know that.  It may be worth letting some memories fade.  Not all, though._

 _No.  And maybe one day you can help me find some of the important things that I've lost._

 _Gladly._

Erik nods.  _So what do you need?_

 _Bank books.  And we should go to the bank to withdraw everything.  A few clothes, notes on my research, -_ his mind flickers over possibilities, dismissing most as unnecessary, _-  a few photographs.  Surprising little, in fact.  There's not much that's necessary, as such, that can't be replaced.  There's more I'd like to get from my lab, particular samples, some notes.  The trouble is the Oxford team that the watchers were thinking of.  They're probably watching either the digs or the lab._

 _Or both.  They may already have searched them too.  Your research ..._

 _The secret notes about me and Raven are hidden and in code._

 _They had codebreakers in the war._

 _All the more reason to go quickly._

Blue fingers snap between their faces.  "Hey," says Raven, "can anyone join this conversation?"

They look up at her, dressed in old-fashioned tweed jacket and trousers, arms akimbo.

"No," said Erik.  "It's private.  A great advantage of telepathy, as you know."

The three people by the garden wander over.  Michaels says, "Wow.  It isn't enough that you have to evade capture by a global superpower and fight for your rights in a hostile world.  You also have to perform a total overhaul of the rules of etiquette.  A new chapter of Debrett's, Telepathic Decorum in Society."

Raven grins at him, and, through their still-open connection, Erik feels Charles' amusement too.  Erik is not amused.  "Propriety - another human hypocrisy that won't be missed."

"Eh, some of us need help with which fork to use.  Use your salad fork on your steak and the world starts to crumble.  You should consider it as a guerilla tactic.  It'll save on armaments, right?"  Gus hunkers down opposite the bench, Hank next to him.  Angel still stands, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

Charles says, "Erik, Raven and I will go into Oxford to pick up odds and ends that we need from our lives there.  I'm sorry we have to leave you here.  You've all been very patient these last days, putting up with a lot of boredom and discomfort.  It will be over soon.  Today, I suggest the five of you scour the house and all the outbuildings for anything that might be useful.  Some exploring might make for a more interesting day."

They nod or shrug, accepting the task.

Erik stands, eager to get started.  To his annoyance, Michaels stands up too.  "Four," he says.  "I'm coming with you."

"No."  Erik is starting to regret bringing this nagging human with them.

"I appreciate that, but it's not necessary," says Charles.

"It is.  You haven't recovered yet.  You ought to be tucked up in a rehab center for the next three months at least."  He raises his hand to block Charles' objection.  "I know that's not possible.  But you need to take things easy."

"I'm hardly going to exert myself sitting down all day."

"One, you haven't spent a whole day pushing yourself around yet.  I notice you don't like other people to push you and that's great, I approve.  But that means by tonight, your arms and back are going to be agony.  And two, how much mental exertion are you going to have?"

Charles nods reluctantly.  "Probably a fair bit.  But that's not ..."

"Your body and your mind are not two separate entities.  They affect each other."

Erik grits his teeth.  Unfortunately, Michaels is making sense.  "It will be a hard day but he can make it."

"Sure.  But you bust your stitiches once already.  So let me do my job.  It's why you bought me in the first place."

Erik can't deny that.  He pushes away his irritation and accepts, grudgingly, that Michaels is right.

"All right," says Charles.  "Let's go."

Erik turns to the young people with final instructions.  "Keep watch in case they come back.  We'll whistle when it's us.  Put anything you think might be useful in the barn with the car."

"There won't be much in the house," says Charles, "unless there's something in the attics.  The outbuildings will have more."

Erik has a thought.  "Pile up the metal for me," he says.  "We'll return by sunset."

"What if you don't?" asks Alex.

"Then contact my mother," says Charles, "and tell her everything."  He raises his fingers to his temple.  "This is what she looks like and this is her London address and telephone number.  Got that?"

They nod.

Raven takes the form she used that morning.  Her hands change then the flicker of blue disappears up her sleeves and a moment later her head blurs.  She shakes herself and grimaces.  "That feels so weird under clothes."

"Will you get some food?" calls Sean as they leave.

"We will."

They fetch a car from the barn.  Erik takes off the handbrake and propels the car silently along the drive while Charles gets a fix on the watchers.  He makes sure the men notice nothing as they pass through the gate.  They don't turn the engine on until they're round a bend in the road.


	17. Wherein Raven makes a choice

**Raven**

Raven sits in the back of the car with Gus, looking at the countryside and occasionally the two heads in front of her.  Without seeing their faces, she can't tell if they're having a telepathic conversation.  It annoys her that they do that, cutting out the rest of them.  

A moment later she is reassured when Erik says, "Your mother?"

"What else should they do? We don't have any money to leave them.  There's nowhere for them to go.  She's rich and she knows powerful people.  She can do as much for them as we can."

Erik doesn't answer.

"Speaking of Mom," says Raven, "have you called her yet?"

"I don't want to get her involved unless it's necessary."

Raven rolls her eyes.  "You don't think she might like to know that her only son is being pursued by three major governments?  Or that he's paralysed?"

Charles is silent for a whole minute.  Raven thinks maybe she should have been a bit less blunt.  Except saying 'her only son is in a spot of bother' is a level of British understatement that she's never mastered.  Then Charles says, "Yes, you're right.  But not yet."

Gently, she says, "Before we leave Europe?"

He is quiet for a few moments more, then, "Yes."

She reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

Erik says, "They might be monitoring the telephone exchanges."

Raven is irked by his paranoia, then recalls that it's justified.

"I don't need to use a telephone," says Charles.

Erik glances over at him.  "From such a distance?"

"We have a permanent connection."

There is silence for a moment.

"That sounded a little more disturbing than it actually is," Charles says.  "Babies and toddlers cling to their mothers naturally, both physically and by crying.  I had an extra method.  Ma accepted it when I was small and created a separation between us as I grew up.  The connection, though, is still deeply ingrained but it's like a, a telephone line.  It's not open but I can metaphorically call her, if I want to.  Talk and then close it again."

"Fair enough," says Erik.  "Could you create that sort of connection with anyone?"

"I've never tried."

They travel on in silence.  Gus is gazing out the window, peering round at the landscape.

He faces front for a moment and catches her eye.  "I've never been to England before."

"It's a nice place," she answers.  "We mostly lived around here.  I hope you'll like Oxford.  The outskirts and suburbs aren't much, but the center is beautiful."

"I'd love to look around."  He casts a furtive glance at the front seats and whispers, "Think we'll get time?"

Raven shakes her head and crosses her eyes at the back of Erik's head.  Then she sighs.  "We do have to move on.  They really are hunting for us."

Gus nods, his face serious.

Raven looks away to her own window and feels a shiver of fear.  They are being hunted by people who want them dead.  She wants to believe that the British spies wouldn't just kill them but why should they be different from the Americans, especially when that's who's informing them?

She pushes those thoughts away and tries to decide what she wants to take from the flat.  A couple pieces of jewellery Mom gave her; her sketch books and pencils.  No, scratch that, probably just one sketch book, it would be too much to carry them all.  The book of Sophocles plays that Heidi gave her and her antique copy of the Rubaiyat, a gift from Charles' stepfather for her eighteenth birthday, which had been surprisingly kind and thoughtful of Carl since they didn't like each other.  Her music box, the first thing Mom gave her because she thought a little girl should have one.

Most important - her memory box with momentos and photographs of her new family, of their homes and the little things they shared with her, of the trips they took - the three of them and sometimes Carl, and later, when Charles was at university, just her and Mom - Paris, Vienna, Milan, Berlin, Venice.  Mostly shopping trips and visiting Mom's friends, but sightseeing and trips to the theatre and the opera too.

She wonders if Erik will let her call Mom.  Like it's his business.  But he has kept them safe so far.

As they drive into Oxford,  Raven looks around the beloved old city, guiltily looking out for friends.  Not that they'd know her.  If she saw Heidi or Erica, Diane or Hen or Mike, all she could do would be look.  Better not to look.  Better to just concentrate on the task at hand.  

"Hey," says Gus, "can you give me the coach tour at least?"

So, as they pass among the old buildings, in different stones and styles from many centuries, they point them out to him.  As the bicycles and gowns dodge and flow around them, they touch on old escapades and dramas.  As pubs and parks and paved courtyards roll by, they remember scurrilous rumors and eccentric antics. 

As they near the center, Charles explains their game plan - ha, they have been using telepathy, probably still are since Erik knows where he's going without being told.  Raven tells herself that it's because they want to keep Gus in the dark.  Then Charles turns to her and says, "Raven, you aren't thinking of doing anything ... rash, are you?"

She gives him the evil eye.  "No, Charles," she says in a sing-song voice, "I am not about to run away to Mom or walk down High Street blue and naked.  I have grasped the concept that we're in trouble."

"Anything you do affects all of us," says Erik.

"Yes, yes, jeez, yes.  I get that."

"All right," says Charles.  "We just wanted to be sure.  I do understand, you know."

"No, you don't, but you try to."  She smiles at him and pats his shoulder.  He takes her hand and squeezes it.

They pull up round the corner from the flat.  Charles reaches out to the surrounding minds and finds the watchers.  They are in a rented room in a pub, opposite and a few doors down from their digs.  Luckily, there are four flats in their building and the men are watching for Raven's blonde form.

She walks calmly into the converted house where they live, - no, she corrects herself, where they used to live, - runs up the stairs past Diane's flat and goes into their own.  At first glance, all is as it should be and she quickly collects Charles' cheque- and bankbooks and takes them back to the car.

"We'll pick you up in two hours from the tea shop," says Charles.

"Look after yourself," she tells him.

"I'm the one with two guardians.  You be careful."

They hug and she returns to the flat.

This time she runs a careful eye over everything.  They left in a hurry and neither of them is very tidy anyway.  She can't see anything to show that someone has been here.  She starts to go through the rooms, picking out a few things from each to stuff into the couple of travel bags and satchels that they didn't take with them the first time.  She leaves Charles' notes for last, she'll take them from their hiding place when she's sure there won't be a loud knock at the door.

Twenty minutes after she arrives, there's a loud knock at the door.

Raven freezes.  She turns her head, barely breathing, to the door.  It fails to burst inwards under the power of heavy boots.  The lock is not blown off with bullets.

The knock comes again, then a voice.  "Raven?  Charles?  Are you in there?"

Heidi.

Raven tiptoes to the door and looks through the peephole.  Heidi and Diane are outside.  What to do?  Ignore them?  Open the door as a stranger, or as the woman they know?  As she watches, Diane puts her ear to the door.  Raven does the same, closing her eyes and straining her ears.

There is silence on both sides for a few moments.  Then Raven hears a whisper.  "I think we should call the police."

Decision made.  She shifts to her blonde form and puts on an expression of fear.  The door chain catches her eye and she puts it across then opens the door.

She peers out.  They are part way down the stairs.  She uses a loud whisper.  "Heidi?  Diane?"

They look then rush back up the stairs.  "Raven!"

"Sh, sh, ssh."  She looks past them.  "Is anyone else there?"

"What?  No," whispers Heidi.  "It's just us."

"I heard someone moving about in your flat," says Diane, "so I fetched Heidi and we came to see.  We've been so worried about you."

"You have to go.  And don't tell anyone you saw me.  Go."  She tries to shut the door but Heidi gets her boot in the way.

"Raven, if you're in trouble, let us help you."

Raven shakes her head.  "You can't help.  Only by keeping quiet.  Do that and you've done everything you can."

"No.  My father is the President of Corpus Christi and knows the heads of every college, not to mention the Chancellor.  I'm sure there is _something_ we can do."

And there it is.  Exactly what she herself had been thinking.  Professor Penhollow is good friends with the Master of Balliol and Macmillan is a Balliol man.  And, since 1960, he is also the Chancellor of the University.  A route straight to the Prime Minister through the old boys network.  A chance for them to tell their side of the story because Macmillan can't, _can't_ know the whole thing, not and send agents out so unprepared.

They have two world powers out to get them and while Britain is not what she was, she might, just might be enough to protect them.  Better at least to have her neutral, not on their trail too, especially if they're heading for a Commonwealth country.

She chews her lip, her eyes flicking between her friends.  Unless Britain turns on them too.  But then, if they see Macmillan himself, Charles can play a few tricks to protect them.

"Raven," says Heidi, "you're my best friend.  Let me help you."

That hurts.  Oh, it hurts, because Heidi _is_ her best friend, or ought to be.  "Is it possible to be friends with someone who's keeping a massive secret from you?  When you've never even seen their face?"

Heidi looks confused.  

Raven squeezes her eyes shut.  "Please just go."  She tries to push Heidi's foot out of the way but Heidi puts her weight on it.

"No.  I don't care about secrets.  You are my friend.  Ever since the first day we met.  I won't just walk away from you when you're in trouble.  You wouldn't do that to me."

Raven's heart is beating so fast and her fear is now real.  She is afraid of the hope inside her, of the desperate wish to be herself, of betraying the friends she has newly found, waiting for her back at the manor.  Of betraying Charles and Erik, who want to save all of them, but can they do that if she turns selfish?

"Trust me."

Raven looks into serious brown eyes.  "Can I?"

"Yes!"

"Me too," says Diane.  "You and Charles are such good friends.  Please let us help you."

How she wishes that Erik had come with her, was standing behind her with his knife out, giving her every reason to send them away.  That he were here backing up her resolve because she can't hold it herself.

She nods and Heidi lets her close the door to remove the chain.  She lets them in and glances behind them to be sure they're still alone.  They sit on the sofa and she paces before them, still afraid and doubting again.  Hank couldn't even accept her as she is, why should these two?  Erik couldn't ... Erik ... OK, don't think about Erik.  She chews on a fingernail.  Maybe if she doesn't mention the others yet.  Maybe if she only reveals herself.  OK.  Here goes.

"We don't have much time," she says.  "I have to go soon.  Um."  What next?  She takes a breath, thinks.  This is her being selfish, her chance to tell her friends everything she has always wanted to say.  So what does she most want them to know?

"We're friends."  She kneels in front of them, holds a hand in each of hers.  "You remember punting down the Isis to celebrate your graduation?  And the trip to Glastonbury when Erica was in her Arthurian phase?  You remember going to Edinburgh and how worried my Mom and Charles were that we were going alone, just the three of us?"  They are her friends, been friends for years.  They can't turn on her.

"Of course we remember," says Diane.

Raven says to her, "You and I met in the pub when Charles was trying to make time with your sister and wanted me to keep you distracted."

"Yes, and he paid for all her drinks and didn't even get a goodnight kiss, while we spent all night giggling and trying to decide if Doctor Reid was wearing a toupee."

"Right."  She turns to Heidi.  "The first day we met, we were eighteen and your Mom invited Charles and me to a tea party.  You and I got talking about Shakepeare and the theatre and ended up spending all night under the beech tree in the garden with a stack of your Mom's books and half a bottle of wine we sneaked."

"Trading monologues and poems and practising dialogues and we've done it a hundred times since.  Yes.  Raven, we are your friends."

"So promise me that no matter what, you won't breathe a word of this to anyone."

"I promise," says Diane.

"Only with your permission," says Heidi.

She hugs them both, maybe for the last time.  "OK.  OK.  I'm trusting you two with my life here and that's not an exaggeration."  She stands up and starts pacing again, twisting her fingers as she thinks.  "OK, so."  She takes a deep breath.  "I was born different.  My Mom, my biological Mom, took one look and rejected me.  At least that's what they told me."

"Why ...?"

"No, just wait.  You'll understand by the end but hear me out.  So, my parents didn't want me and no-one knew what to do with me, so they sent me to a convent in New England.  The nuns were to raise me hidden away so no-one would see me, no-one would know what I was.  They were ..."  She shakes her head.  She doesn't like to visit these memories.  It's important, though, she's never really talked to anyone about it, even Charles and Mom.

"There was Sister Mary Anselm and Sister Erasmus who were kind to me.  They tried to be nice, taught me, even gave me little treats when they could sneak them.  And most others either didn't know about me or ignored me.  The rest, though."  She hugs herself.  "They said I was a demon.  Or half-demon.  That my mother must have consorted with a devil, or that I was a hellish changeling.  

"Some of them thought that they had to redeem me.  Others just thought I was pure evil.  They all had the same remedies, though.  Regular baptism, almost drowning me in holy water.  Beatings.  They made me wear a cilice ... "

"A what?"

"A hair shirt.  They made me spend hours on my knees praying, left me locked in my cell for days, starved me.  A couple of times they brought in priests to ... exorcise me."  She shudders, remembering struggling and screaming.  "At least, the ones who hated me didn't pretend they were doing it for my own good."  She shakes her head, trying to free herself from the morass of memories, the hate.  It got better, she reminds herself.

Heidi opens her mouth, dismayed, and Raven raises her hands.  "Not much more."

Her friend - God, she hopes so - sits back, troubled and intent on her.

"It was bad.  So I ran away.  I had nothing, I had to steal food.  And after a few days, I saw this big house.  And that was Charles' house.  He found me and his Mom took me in, adopted me.  And everything was ... well, not perfect, but good enough.  Great.  So much better than I had been able to imagine.  But they said I had to hide what I was.  Which I could do, of course, with a little effort.  It was a fair price.  Then ..."

Then what?  She doesn't want to betray her new friends, she doesn't want to lie to her old ones.  In this flat, with her friends, the last few months seem like a dream, wonderful and dark and tangled.  The world opened up and became more confusing because of it.  What out of all that does she need to tell them?  Of course, the centre of it all is ...

"Genetic mutation."  How does Charles explain it?  "In every species in every generation there'll be a few individuals who are different.  A gene comes out different from how it's meant to be - mutated - and if that difference helps the individual survive and reproduce then that mutant gene gets passed on to the young.  And then they survive and pass it on and the gene spreads until it becomes the norm.  Right?"

"Pretty much."

"Right.  Most of those mutations are pretty low-key.  In humans, it's webbed toes or six fingers, mismatched eyes, pale skin.  Charles could give you a huge list.  But just recently, some mutations have been more ... dramatic.  There was a man called Shaw who had one.  It made him ... terribly dangerous."  

She remembers the appalling attack, remembers Agent Lowe smashing on the ground and the terrible last words of that soldier that made Raven swiftly hate and then feel horrible guilt at his death.  And worse, the suspicion that she didn't quite feel bad enough.  She still wishes she could be more sorry he was dead.  

She condenses it.  "Shaw killed many people with his power, and he wanted to make more mutants.  And lead them.  Charles got called in to consult on how to deal with him.  He and I ended up as part of a CIA taskforce to fight Shaw.

"The wonderful thing was there were other people like me.  It was exciting and ... and it seemed like anything was possible.  Like the future was coming and we were going to do something great.  The soldiers and agents around us, they didn't like us, they just tolerated us because we were needed.  But we thought, if we showed them what we can do, if we made a real difference, they would change their minds.  And ... and there was this guy.  Except that didn't ... .  And then there was this other guy."

No.  Stop right there.  It's really not the time for that conversation, even though she has a crazy urge to tell them and ask their advice.  Maybe if she and Heidi ever sit down for a girl talk again, she can spill everything about that night with Erik.  And afterwards.  Right now, she needs to get back to the point.

She sighs.  "We thought we could change their minds.  We beat Shaw.  But ... I don't know ... they were scared of us or ... I don't know, I don't know why they did it, we did nothing wrong."  She still finds it hard to believe, though why should she?  Anger and frustration intensify her voice.  "We hadn't done anything, _anything_ but what they wanted, and they tried to kill us.  They tried to kill us!"  

She pauses, takes a breath.  "We escaped but now they're after us, just for being different.  Just because we were born different, not for anything we've done.  You understand, don't you?" She kneels in front of them again.  "We haven't done anything wrong, we haven't committed a crime, we're just different."

Heidi takes her hand.  "Raven.  Are you ... are you saying you have one of these mutations?  I'm sorry, it just sounds crazy.  You're not demonic, you're... "

Raven stands and takes two steps back.  She hesitates, wondering how to do this.  It's strange to change in clothes, she feels more comfortable just in her own skin.  Then again, suddenly taking off her clothes might be just a little too weird.  Wait.  In comparison with what she's about to do?

She takes off her shoes, her jacket.  That'll have to do.

Diane says, "Um..."

Then Raven changes to her true form.

The two women shriek and lurch backwards.  Diane scrabbles up the back of the sofa, pushing herself against the wall, one arm raised in front of her face.  Heidi goes white and stares with wild eyes, frozen in her seat.

"It's still me," says Raven, "This is me.  This is who I always was, in the punt, in the pub, in the garden.  The other was just a mask I had to wear.  But it was me underneath.  Who I am is just the same."  She takes a step forward and Diane screams again, struggles off the side of the sofa and into the corner.

"No.  No, don't be afraid," Raven's voice is strangled by the thickness in her throat.  "It's me, Raven.  I'm still Raven."  She starts to cry, can't help it.

After a moment, "Raven?" whispers Heidi.

"Yes."  She kneels again.  "Yes."

Heidi reaches out with a shaking hand.

"No!  Don't touch it!" screams Diane, her eyes wide in terror.

Heidi touches Raven's face, her brow furrowing, her lips pursed.  Raven recognises her study face and laughs and cries in fear and hope.

"Raven?"  Heidi lifts Raven's hand, traces a finger over the blue ridges, then raises her eyes to Raven's.  There is silence, stillness then, "Hell's Bells!  This is incredible!  This is ... this is ... this is beyond words."

"I wanted to tell you.  I hate hiding, I wanted to tell you so much but I couldn't."

"This is amazing.  How do you ... how ... can you ... what ... ?  I don't know where to start."

"You don't mind?"

"Mind?"  Heidi sits open-mouthed.  Her hands run over Raven's face, down her arm.  "It's spectacular.  How ... ?  What ... ?"

Diane groans and starts to back herself along the wall to the door, grunting in fear.  Raven stands and moves towards her.

"No!  No, stay away from me!"

She stops.  "Diane, please."

"Stay away!"  She reaches the door and scrabbles at the lock.

"Diane," says Heidi, "calm down."

"No.  No!  What is it?  We have to get away, we have to get help."  She manages to pull the door open and shoots through.

Heidi and Raven run to the door.  Just in time, Raven ducks behind Heidi and shifts to her blonde form.

"Diane, wait!" calls Heidi.  They run to the bannisters and lean over.  Diane is down two flights.  They can see her on the lower landing.  "Where are you going?"

"To get help!"

"We don't need help."

"You're mad!  That's not Raven, it can't be.  Raven's in trouble, _she_ needs our help.  If that thing hasn't killed her!"

"Of course it's Raven, you heard what she said."

"It's trying to trick us.  Look at it.  It's a monster!"

Raven breathes in hard.  Despite her fears, despite her childhood, she is unprepared for how much it hurts.  "Who'll believe you?" she shouts.

For a moment, Diane pauses.  Then a semblence of sense returns to her face.  "The CIA, apparently."  She starts running again and Heidi darts after her.  When she's halfway down, the front door bangs.

"No-o-o," moans Raven.  "No, no, no.  Oh God, what have I done?"  She runs back into the flat and grabs the bags.  Did she get everything?  No, Charles' notes.  Leave them?  Get them?  

Get them, in case whoever comes tears the place apart.  She can always disappear by turning a corner.  She runs to the desk and opens the secret drawer.

The door bangs.  She spins round.

"Lost her," says Heidi, panting.  "She'd disappeared by the time I got there.  That woman can run.  You wouldn't think it in those heels."  She pauses.  "You're you again."

Raven stills for a moment then throws a bag onto her shoulder.  "I have to go."

"Where?"

"Away.  Far away.  I can't tell you."  She grabs the notebooks from the drawer and pushes them into her bag.

"Wait."

"No time."

"She not going to find the CIA on Woodstock Road, is she?"

"There's two MI5 agents in the Lion."

Heidi's eyes go wide.  "Really?"

"Yes."  She comes close to Heidi, wants to hug her but doesn't.  "Thank you.  For not screaming and running away.  For all your friendship."

Heidi regards her seriously.  Heidi was born serious.  It makes her rare laughter and hidden wildness all the more precious.  And now Raven won't have that any more.  Except then Heidi says, "I should have said you're masked again, shouldn't I?  Don't go yet.  Talk to my father, he knows you and Char... .  Wait.  Charles.  Did they just want him because of his studies or because ...?"

Tell or don't tell?  Heidi's proved she can be trusted.  "He's not like me.  Not a shapeshifter, I mean.  He has his own mutant gift, though."

"Gosh.  OK.  Talk to Father.  I'm sure he can help you talk to someone in government."

"It won't matter.  They've already decided."

"How do you know?"

She wavers.  They don't know, do they?  Will they react the same as the Americans and Russians?

"Otherwise what are you going to do?  Spend your whole life running?  If you haven't done anything wrong -"

"We haven't."

"- then put your case."

"Why should they help us?  Why won't they turn on us too?  Do you think the British are better than the Americans?"

Heidi thinks about this.  "I do, actually.  I suppose that might be unfair."

"Oh yeah.  I think Diane proved that point."

"All right.  So you won't even try?"

Raven closes her eyes.  That's pretty much what she said to Charles and Erik.  But that was before she knew that the British government was after them too.  Can she try?  Erik won't.  Should she ask Charles, should she put that burden on him?  Does she have the right to decide for them all, either way?

She opens her eyes.  "I'll ask Charles.  If he's willing, we'll talk to your father."

"Good."

"I'm meeting Charles in one hour.  I'll ask him to come to Corpus.  Can you get your parents and the Master of Balliol to meet us at the President's residence there?"

"Yes.  Yes, whatever it takes, I'll get them there."

"OK.  I'll try to see you then.  If he won't come ... I can't do this against him."

"I understand."

Heidi hesitates, then gently draws her into a hug.  Raven's emotions start to overflow as she returns the hug.  She pulls back and scrubs her eyes.  Then she shifts to the form she arrived in.

Heidi gawps for a moment then shakes her head.  "That's going to take some getting used to."

"I hope you'll have a chance."


	18. Wherein Erik and Charles disagree (what's new?)

**Charles**

For the most part, banks don't like parting with money, especially large amounts.  Charles has to use strong mental encouragement on the bank manager to stop the man trying to persuade him to stay with the bank, and just let him leave.  With all his money.

On top of that, he has to make the man forget to ring the number he's been given to call if there is any unusual activity on that account.

They take one hundred pounds each for him and Erik, the bank's limit without notice, and the rest as a banker's draft.  Then they go to his office and lab.  This is the hard part.  There might be any number of people who will recognise Charles in the science area.  Michaels points out that most of them will not immediately recognise him because of the wheelchair.  That, in fact, quite a few people won't look at him at all because of it.  "Not that that's a good thing, but it'll be a help today."

Oh, good.

Erik says, "Show me what to get and where it is."

"If you're challenged ... "

"I'll talk my way out of it."

"Only talk?"

"I don't want to draw attention either.  And I'll draw less of it as a stranger than you will, turning up after two months in a wheelchair."

Charles grimaces.  He needs to get used to not minding when other people mention it.  He flexes his right toes in his shoe, a tiny freedom and symbol of hope.  "True.  All right.  I'll direct you as you go."

"Good."  He leaves the car.  Charles watches him until he is out of sight, then closes his eyes and keeps following with his mind, guiding Erik through the corridors.

He watches through Erik's eyes as he walks the halls where Charles had been in his element.  He doesn't feel too bad about it, he will set himself up with his own labs when they settle.  He would have liked to do this himself, though.  Just check everything over one last time, take a final leave of the place.

He is startled by a knock at the window.  Ken Thorpe is staring in at him in amazement.  "Charles!  Where have you been?"  

Charles turns the strength of his mind against Ken.  _Forget, forget, overlook, ignore.  No-one here, no-one you know, carry on, forget, overlook, forget._

Ken's eyes glaze over.  He stands up straight, blinks a couple of times, then sets off across the street, the last two minutes forgotten, his mind returned to the point before he saw Charles.  Charles watches him go, mildly appalled at how casually he manipulated his colleague's mind.  It was necessary, he reminds himself.  He returns to Erik.

Erik is waiting for a quiet moment before slipping into Charles' office and swiftly retrieving all his notes.  It's a smooth in-and-out.  The lab, however, is occupied.

 _That's Jasper Redmond and Hugh Forrest, research post-grads.  They're being supervised by Professor Campbell._

 _Name a couple of other department members._

 _Doctor Thorpe, Professor Walker, Doctor Raineau, Doctor Lindstrom._

 _Fine._

Erik walks confidently into the lab, nods pleasantly to the two young men and searches for the samples that Charles wants.

"Excuse me?"

Erik ignores them, takes the first samples and carefully places them in a tray.

A hand touches his shoulder.  Erik looks round.  _Jasper,_ thinks Charles.  

"Oui, Monsieur?" says Erik.  "Uh, Yes?  Can I 'elp you?"

"Oh.  Um."  Then slightly louder than normal.  "Who.  Are.  You?"

Erik says, "I am Yves Dupont."  He grabs the other man's hand and shakes it.  "I 'ave come 'ere as assistant to Doctor Raineau."

"Oh.  Ah.  Jasper Redmond.  And this is Hugh Forrest."

The other young man has approached and Erik seizes his hand and pumps it too.

"Enchanté."

"Quite," says Forrest, looking a bit uncomfortable.

Erik nods then gestures to the sample tray.  "I must take these, these, uh, echantillons, comment est-ce que l'on dit en Anglais?"

They look at each other and then back at him, puzzled.

"Um.  Sorry?"

Louder again, "We. Don't. Under. Stand."

"What are in English," Erik waves a hand over the sample tray again, "echantillons?"

"Oh.  Samples."

"Sa- samples?"  He pretends to taste the word.  "Bon, samples.  Oui, I must take these samples to Doctor Raineau."

"Oh fine."

Erik nods and turns back to the sample fridge.  The two men go back to their experiments.  

Another knock on the window.  Julian Hawes.  Charles deals with him as simply as Ken.  It's so dangerously simple.

Five minutes later, Erik walks out with a tray full of samples.  Charles sighs, _Our security is appalling._

 _Their security is appalling.  Ours will be much better._

Erik gives the briefcase of notes and the sample tray to Gus to look after.  They drive to the tearooms.  Raven comes out with their bags.  She is both dreadfully nervous and elated.  Charles doesn't like it.  He turns round as she gets in the car and says, "You did say you weren't going to do anything rash."

Erik spins to face Raven too.

Raven leans back slightly.  "I didn't _mean_ to do anything rash," she says.

"What _did_ you do?" asks Erik.

"Diane, our friend ... "  She pauses.  "Diane Wells from downstairs heard me moving, and fetched another friend, Heidi.  They knocked and when I didn't answer, they decided to call the police.  So I had to talk to them."  She stops again, licks her lips.  Nervousness is starting to smother the excitement.

"And?"

She leans back further into the seat.  "I ... I only told them about me.  Directly.  I didn't mention any other names."

"You told them."  Erik's tone is polite but Charles feels Erik's rage.  He's quite impressed at his self control.  With such feelings, he himself would be rather brusque, even snippy.

"What happened?" asks Charles.

"Diane panicked and," Raven's nerves climb several notches, she licks her lips again, "... and she said she was going to the CIA.  I figure, it won't be easy but if she knows about Doctor Ryan ..."

"Who's Doctor Ryan?" asks Erik.  Really, you'd think he was having tea with the vicar.

"The local spook," says Raven.

Charles says, "Rumour has it he's the not-so-secret MI5 representative and recruiter at the University."

"Is he?"

"Yes."  Charles turns back to Raven.  "And Heidi?"

A joyful smile spreads across Raven's face.  "Was fine."

Charles is incredulous.  "Fine?"

"Yes.  Of course, she was shocked, but then she accepted it."  She leans forward and clutches his shoulders.  "Charles, she was even excited.  She wants to help us."  Raven explains about meeting the scholars at Corpus.

Charles is shaking his head while she's still speaking.  "No.  I'm sorry, Raven, it's a nice offer, but we've tried working with a government already.  I don't think they're ready for us.  We need to do this on our own for now."

"So, what?  Exit, pursued by a bear, eagle and lion?"  She leans forward again.  "Those three countries between them can call most of the world down on us.  You want to have to run from everyone?  You want to spend your whole life using your powers to hide us?"

"It won't come to that."

Erik, calmer now with Charles' support, says, "We only hide until we are ready to fight."

Charles says, "That's not quite what I meant."

"Don't you want to live openly?" asks Raven.

"Of course."  He supposes he does.  He's always been taught to hide.

"Think of all the things you dreamed you could achieve with your powers.  All the possibilities, all the paths open to you.  This is your chance to make them happen."

Erik asks, "Why do you think this government will do any better than the last one?"

"I don't know that they will, but I think we should give them our side before the Americans give them theirs.  Last time it was all spy-games and nuclear war.  This time, make it about dreams and possibilities."

Erik just laughs, but Charles feels excitement starting to churn inside him.  Erik looks at him, Charles thinks his friend wants to share his amusement but Charles can't and Erik's eyes narrow.

"No.  Absolutely not," he says.

Charles says, "Isn't it worth trying?  If the Master can get us in to see Macmillan, or at least the Home Secretary, we can't miss that opportunity."

"No."  Erik is as immovable as a rock.  "Are you both mad?  What part of the last two weeks have you forgotten?  They are hunting us, they have tried to obliterate us, they will kill us if they can.  There is no way they will let you meet _anyone_ in government.  They will arrest you and give you to America where you will die."

"I have to take this chance.  The old boys network is a lot stronger than you think."

Erik's anger is like the desert, still and searing.  He speaks with precision and calm while Charles raises shields to keep from being burned.  "Come down from your ivory tower, Charles, and see the world as it is.  It is bloody, dangerous and treacherous, and it will not fall neatly into place."

"It is also much bigger than we are and humans outnumber us more than a million to one.  We cannot, at this time, fight them all.  It is unlikely we can hide from them all.  We have to try to form a truce and, if possible without appeasement, an alliance."

Erik shakes his head sharply.  "It will be neither.  It will be seizure and imprisonment, if not death."

Charles looks at Erik with calm understanding.  "I have to do this.  You go to the others.  Take them away from the manor, take them to the airport and be ready to fly to Switzerland.  If all goes well, I'll leave a message at the information desk for one of your aliases.  If it doesn't, get them away, get them safe, and we'll join you when we can."

Erik's hands are stretched flat on the steering wheel.  Charles can feel him struggling not to wield his power in this public place.  " _If_   you can."

"We're not helpless, Erik.  There's quite a bit we could manage between here and Langley."

"Why bother?"

"I have to.  I have to try."

He feels Erik's anger heat to fury at that, a desert storm building, but they are in the eye of it.  "Why?"

"Because I have to believe that the world isn't as dark as you say.  That there are people of reason and ideals in some position of power.  Or I'd ...  despair."

Erik looks at him with as much compassion as he can muster in his rage.  "And after despair comes pragmatism.  And then we can achieve something.  We will build a brighter world but first we have to rid ourselves of these..."

"No.  I can't.  Not without _trying_ to build that world _with_ them.  I _can't_ attack people who haven't raised a hand against me."

"So you let them hit you first.  In the mid-forties, the British government handed millions of Russian POWs over to the Soviet Union, knowing that they would be enslaved or killed.  I have heard stories that MacMillan himself sent thousands of Cossacks and Yugoslavs to their deaths.  How _can_ you believe that they will treat us better?  We're not even human."

"The Russians and Cossacks were human, it didn't help them.  I speak with the same language, with the same accent and I come from the same background.  I am an English gentleman.  The deeply depressing truth is that that _will_ matter to them."

Erik is incredulous.  "That's it?  That's what you're pinning your safety on?" 

Charles just holds Erik's eyes and says, "I have to do this.  Please understand, this is who I am.  I have to try."

Erik is breathing heavily now, the storm about to burst.  Charles worriedly checks the car, the bollards, the nearby lamp-posts and bicycles.  The lamp-posts are shaking a bit and a couple of people fall when their bicycles lock up.  

"Erik, I know it's difficult, but you do need to calm down a bit.  You're starting to affect the street."

Erik sends a death glare against Raven via the rear-view mirror.  "Du klafte."

"Erik." Charles is pretty sure that's an insult but he isn't sure how rude it is, how strongly he ought to object.  He resolves to get a German dictionary and wonders if he needs a Yiddish one too.

Erik's words are becoming heavy and stilted.  "You have condemned us all."  A couple of cars stutter and stall.  The lamp-posts are starting to lean towards them and the owners of several bicycles are having a hard time keeping them straight.

"Not all," says Raven.  "Only Charles and me."

"They know there are seven of us."

"So go now before we meet them.  Charles and I will take this chance.  It's our choice."

When the doors lock, it's obvious that Erik doesn't want it to be their choice, and he is in the driver's seat.

"Please," murmurs Charles.  He sends the softest, subtlest calm he can, a sweet sea breeze, a gentle mist.  "Please, let us go.  You keep the others safe.  If this doesn't work, your beliefs are proven.  They will follow you without argument."  More quietly, "I will."

Erik turns his head sharply, narrows his eyes at Charles.  

"Well, not many."

Erik raises his eyebrows.  

"Fewer, certainly."

Erik faces front.  Then he takes a deep breath and exhales the worst force of his rage.  The street returns to normal.  "And if they lock you up, how will we find more mutants without you?"

"Emma Frost?"

Charles is laughing at him but Erik returns a glare, at last showing some of his draining anger.  "She has better survival instincts than you," he snaps.

"Undoubtedly."

Erik still glares.  "Id-yot!"

"That too."

Erik is silent, staring ahead for many minutes.  Charles just gazes at him, cataloguing his features - the sleek brown hair, the pale blue eyes, straight nose, strong chin.  His mouth.  He still wants to kiss that mouth.  Too late now, in all sorts of ways.  Charles may be an optimist, it doesn't mean he can't see the likely pitfalls ahead of him.

Eventually Erik rubs his eyes and murmurs something that sounds like, "Mishegus."  The doors pop open.  "You're a fool.  Don't expect me to come and rescue you."

"I don't.  We choose this for ourselves.  Whatever happens, we accept the consequences.  And, as I said, we're not helpless."

"I know that."  He pauses then says quietly, "Good luck."

"And to you."

Charles, Raven and Gus get out of the car, leaving all but Gus's medical bag inside, and Erik promptly takes off without a backward glance.

\---------------

The porter, Gray, exclaims in shock over the wheelchair and offers clumsy sympathy.  On the way to the President's residence, he comes up a couple of tactless anecdotes about friends of his injured in the war.  Charles suppresses his sarcastic replies, cutting the man off by asking, "Gray, has anyone asked you to report to them if we appear?"

"There was someone come round a few days ago.  Left a number in Whitehall."

"Would you mind holding off for a couple hours?"

"I wouldn't tell him anything then, I won't tell him now."

"I don't want you to get into trouble."

"You don't worry about me, you just worry about yourselves.  Seems to me you've got enough trouble of your own."

"That we do."

At the door to the residence, Gray helps Michaels get the wheelchair over the step, which is kind.  College porters can be very protective of their favourite charges, and Charles has known Gray since he was an undergrad.

The porter leaves and the housekeeper leads the three of them to the drawing-room.  Through the door, Charles can sense Heidi, feeling nervous, Professor and Doctor Penhollow, her parents, and Professor Weir, the Master of Balliol.  He smiles to himself.  James Penhollow and Dennis Weir are discussing Mendelian inheritence.  How appropriate.  He wonders if Heidi introduced the topic.  

Charles looks up at Raven and squeezes her hand, while the housekeeper knocks at the door.  When they go in, everyone stares in shock.  Nice to make an entrance.

Katharine Penhollow is the first to speak.  "Charles, my dear boy, what happened?"

"A lot.  It's a long story and not important right now."  They raise eyebrows at that, he doesn't need telepathy to feel their disbelief.  He turns to her husband.  "James, has anyone from the government been in touch about me?"

James blinks then says, "Yes.  A few days ago I was asked to inform MI5 if you returned to the college.  They wouldn't tell me why.  Can't say I liked it, I don't see you as someone to get involved in anything shady.  When Heidi said you were back, I thought I'd give you a chance to explain first.  See if we can't sort this out.  Surely there's some sort of mix-up."

"Thank you.  We're quite keen to sort it out.  We need your help contacting the appropriate people, though.  As for a mix-up, well ... yes and no.  That takes a bit of explanation."

"Would you like some tea?" asks Katharine.

"Lovely, thank you."  He puts himself in the circle of chairs.  Gus gives him a bump to get over the edge of the rug.  Raven looks at Heidi.  There is a slight nervousness on Raven's part but Heidi moves up on the sofa and pats the seat next to her.  Raven grins and takes it.  Charles feels her relief and quietly thanks God for true friendship.  He just hopes the older people in the room can be half so open-minded.  

Gus moves a desk chair over to sit near Charles.  Charles says, "This is Doctor Gus Michaels, who's been looking after me, quite beyond the call of duty."

They shake hands with him, mutters of "Good chap" and "Pleased to meet you" passing back and forth.  The housekeeper brings in a full teapot, then leaves again.  Katharine hands round new cups of tea and refreshes old ones.  Then they settle back, all eyes on Charles.

He starts his explanation with a brief discussion of standard genetic mutation principles, which they accept, and follows with an account of Moira's approach to him.

"That's what the Home Office represented to us as a temporary secondment," says James, "why we gave you a sabbatical for this term."

"Yes.  I don't believe the CIA fully explained matters to them.  I imagine the request was granted as a courtesy.  We helped them stop this man Shaw, but the methods we used... . We didn't break any laws but I think we frightened them.  That's why they're after us."  

James says, "This Agent MacTaggert, you say she approached you because she thought a suspect showed signs of extreme genetic mutation."

"Yes."

"She has rather an overactive imagination."

"No."  Charles puts his cup precisely down on its saucer.  "Extreme genetic mutation is possible.  It's just very unlikely."

"Charles, old boy, I'm not a geneticist but ..."

"Extreme genetic mutation is possible.  Raven and I are proof of this.  Raven is a shapeshifter and I am ... a mind-reader."

Waves of disbelief and sympathy come from them.  They think he is brain-damaged.  He smiles gently.  Raven stands and says, "I was born this way.  This is what I really look like."  Then she shifts to her true form.

Shock, the blankness of shock, their minds trying to process what they have just seen.  They would reject it except she's standing there in rainbow-coloured glory and they can't stop staring.  Raven is defiant, standing proud, and shifts through each of their forms, smaller shocks going through them with each change.  Then she returns to her own form.  Charles drinks his tea and waits for them to recover.  Michaels snaffles a crumpet.

Eventually, Katharine takes a breath and says, "How _fascinating_!"

James stands and takes Raven's hand.  He studies it carefully, turning it over, flexing her fingers.

"It's a hand, Professor."

He starts and stares at her in surprise.

"Yes, I talk.  I move, I breathe, I live.  I can even do this."  She beeps his nose.

He looks slightly confused and affronted.

"I'm Raven, the Raven who accidently spilt wine all over high table."  She looks at Katharine.  "The Raven who used to lie around your study with Heidi piling up your plays out of order.  I'm the me you've never seen before but I'm still me."

"We both are," says Charles.  "We kept part of ourselves hidden, as many people do.  Our secret is just a bit more unusual than most."

They look at him now, suddenly prickling with discomfort, an edge of fear.

"I am a mind-reader," he says to them.  "Though I don't need to read your minds to know you're all worried and afraid.  I don't know what to tell you, except we are not dangerous.  We are no threat to you or to this country.  To this world.  The American and Russian governments think we must be, simply because we could be, and they know what they'd do if they had these abilities.  In fact, we want to live peacefully, quietly.  I want to get on with my research, to understand how this came about and what the future will be.  We want to use our abilities for the betterment of mankind.  _But_ we can't be of use to anyone if we're being pursued across the world by security and intelligence services."

He focuses on Weir.  "That's why we need your help to talk to the government, preferably to Macmillan himself, to ask him to call off the dogs and let us live peacefully."

Professor Weir draws a deep breath and shakes his head.  "You're asking a lot, Professor Xavier.  To take you to the heart of government would be a dangerous course of action."

"Who else can make the decision about us?  And don't we deserve a chance to put our side directly to him?  Kennedy has told him that we are spies.  He hasn't told him what we are.  We know this because the men searching for us have no idea and that makes them useless."

"How do you know that?"

"I read their minds."

Weir leans forward.  "You truly can do that?"

Charles raises his hands, spreading all his fingers across his temples and forehead.  A little misdirection seems prudent at this stage.  In retrospect, it might have been wise to try this with the CIA.  "Think of something."  He puts on an expression of fierce concentration.  After a moment, he says, "What is that?  A ... a tune, simple ... Mediaeval ... plain chant.  Hil - Hildegard of Bingen."  He pauses.  After half a minute,  "Kenyan Independence."  More concentration, a longer pause,  "What Professor Aiden and Miss Wilson ...  Really?  When was this?"  He looks at Raven.  "Do you know about that?"

"You always pretend you're not interested in gossip."

"It's seldom as interesting or unusual as people think."  He looks back to Professor Weir, who is quite unnerved.  "Yes, I truly can do it."

"Dennis?" says James.

Weir nods.  "Yes."  He clears his throat.  "All quite correct."

"Dear God."

Then there is silence.  Michaels sneaks a shortbread.

"How does it work?" asks Weir.

"One of the many questions I'd like to research.  I don't think we have time to discuss my initial conclusions now."

"Why are they after you?" asks James.

"Because we exist and they don't control us.  I assure you that is all.  They want to destroy what they don't understand.  No matter that we helped them, they want us under their control or dead."  He leans forward.  "All we need is for you to arrange a meeting with Macmillan, so we can give our side before he hands British citizens over to a foreign power.  Is that really so much to ask?"

Silence again.  Weir is worried, trying to determine the safest course.  James is trying to understand how this could be possible, still half-disbeliving, easier now Raven is out of his direct sight line, sitting by Heidi again.  Heidi is openly studying Charles and Raven by turns.  Raven is putting up with it with some embarrassment.  Katharine is thoughtful, gazing into the air, thinking of philosophy and ethics.  Michaels is wondering whether it would be rude to pour himself more tea.

Charles grins at him and says, "Katharine, could we have some more tea?"

She comes back from considering Kant.  "Of course."  She gives them refills and they all sit back, sip and relax a little.  Charles blesses tea and its central role in reassuring the British that things aren't actually all that bad.

"Well, I think you must do as he asks, Dennis," says Katharine.  "Ring the Prime Minister and say you've heard about the search for Charles Xavier and is there something extra to the matter that he might be loath to mention because it sounds a bit odd?  Tell him you're concerned that he might not have the full story and will he meet with Charles and Raven to get one or two details that _may_ have been left out, not due to any deceit, naturally, just through a certain reticence concerning the unusual nature of the people concerned."

Weir is not convinced.

Katharine gestures widely.  "What other decision can you make?  The mere fact of the possibility of such mutations is momentous for the field of biology; should they develop more widely, they will result a pivotal reordering of the human world.  You have a _duty_ to ensure that the Prime Minister is fully informed.  But you can't tell him yourself if Kennedy hasn't, he'll think you're bonkers.  And besides, it would be unjust to allow them to be turned over without a fair hearing."  She selects a biscuit and takes a bite, once more staring into space.

Charles says, "I do believe that there is a real danger we will be summarily killed, or locked up indefinitely without trial.  We raised no hand against America or Russia, we have no intention of doing so.  But we need the protection of the British government in this or we will be in very dire straits."  He guiltily tells himself that he is using 'we' in the sense of himself and Raven.  Introducing the idea of Erik at this point could be somewhat detrimental to the goodwill that seems to be prevailing.

Weir nods slowly.  "Yes.  I suppose you're right.  Except I have no idea how much of this is true, or what your real intentions are towards the Prime Minister."

"I could read his mind and Raven could impersonate him.  But in the company of armed MI5 agents, who I imagine will accompany us from this house all the way to the Prime Minister's presence, I doubt it would do us much good.  What threat do you think we can be?"

Weir shakes his head.  "I don't know.  I rather think that's the point."

"Number 10 is not going to depend on you for a threat assessment.  All you need to do is persuade the Prime Minister that he doesn't have all the information he needs to make a final decision."  

Weir stares at him.  Charles wonders about influencing Weir, but the man's mind is clear and shrewd, and Charles doesn't to risk that he might notice a stray thought not his own.  He doesn't want him to suspect the full range and power of his telepathy.  If Weir refuses, Charles will remove all memory of the meeting from them, from Mrs Hatch, from Gray, and take a taxi back to Redbearn.  And follow Erik.  

Come on, Weir.  

He watches the thoughts running through the Master's mind, the potential danger weighed against the possible advantage of having such useful espionage talents at Britain's disposal.  Fascination with these abilities and instinctive distrust of anything different.  The surprise that Xavier, whom he always heard of as a sound chap, should have this ... this circus talent, though not a confidence trick but real telepathy.  Slight doubts about how he obtained his qualifications.

Charles works to maintain a concerned, patient expression and stifle his outrage at that last thought.

Overall, Weir keeps coming back to their potential uses.  And eventually he comes to the same conclusion as Katharine.  It isn't his place to choose.  After a minute of staring at Charles, he finally consents.  "All right.  And if he agrees, I'll accompany you."

"I'll come too," says Heidi.

"Would you?" asks Raven.

"Of course.  All the way."  They hug.

Charles is happy that Raven hasn't lost her friend.  He does wonder, though, where Diane is, and who exactly she's talking to.  

Weir, however, shakes his head.  "No, quite out of the question, I'm afraid.  It wouldn't be appropriate."

Professor Penhollow says, "I don't think that's a good idea."

Heidi is defiant.  "Why not?"

"You don't know what might happen.  You shouldn't get mixed up in this."

Doctor Penhollow says, "You can't intrude on a Prime Ministerial meeting of this importance without being directly concerned.  And it might make Raven look weaker if she needs a friend along to hold her hand.  You'd do better to hunt down Diane, didn't you say she was upset about Raven's revelation and might do something detrimental?  Do what you can here.  Find Diane and then spend a few hours with a textbook on genetic mutation.  We'll have Charles and Raven to tea when they get back; you can see her then.  I'm terribly excited myself, to hear all about this."

Charles smiles at dear Katharine, her sharpness so often hidden by a vague, kindly expression.  "We shall be delighted to tell you all about it.  Provided this meeting goes well."  To Weir, he says, "Thank you.  We appreciate it, more than I can say."

Katharine takes Weir to the telephone in the hall.  Charles decides he has earned a scone.  

"So, James," he says after a couple of bites, on the basis that the man is still staring at him, "what do you think I'll have to do to get some ramps or a lift put in around the biological sciences building?"  He keeps half his mind on Weir, listening as the man talks to a secretary.

James stares at him a moment, during which Katharine returns, then shakes his head.  "How long have you had these abilities?"

"All my life."

"Like Raven," says Katharine.  "My dear, you said you were born this way."

"Yes.  Smaller," she says with a smile.  "I had the skin, the hair and the eyes.  The ridges grew when I was about six, seven, maybe.  Then I became able to change."

"And how does it work?"

"I have to come up with a clear vision of how I want to look, then I just will it.  It takes a small effort to maintain, depending on the change of size, body shape, that sort of thing."

"And how does it work biologically?"

Raven shrugs.  "No idea."

"Really?"  Both scholars turn and look accusingly at Charles.

He defends himself.  "In the first place, I never had the lab time and equipment to run tests secretly.  In the second, Raven is not an animal to be experimented on.  She has a free choice to say if she wants to learn more about her biology."

"Well, yes, but really, Charles," says James.  "This is surely one of the most exciting and important scientific events in ... in human history.  Such an extraordinary development in human biology is ... is ... momentous.  It cannot be ignored."

"I'm not ignoring it.  I'm just applying some ethical standards to the situation.  If I start experimenting without a thought to the safety and willingness of my subjects, I might as well rename myself Mengele."  He pricks a mental ear, Weir has just been put through to the Prime Minister.

"Of course, we're not suggesting anything unethical.  But surely, Raven, you wouldn't mind.  You understand the scientific implications."

"Yes, and I understand the personal ones too.  I don't mind some tests, but I'm no lab rat."

At this point, the housekeeper walks in and starts screaming.  She drops the plate of bread and butter - not for the first time, Charles wishes he had telekinesis - and stumbles back, staring at Raven and shrieking through a hand clapped to her mouth.

"Mrs Hatch!"  Katharine rises to her feet.  "Kindly stop that dreadful noise and get a hold of yourself!"

Charles idly scratches his temple.  The housekeeper calms a bit.

"But ... but what ... ?"

Raven gives her a finger wave.  "Hi, Mrs Hatch."

"It's Raven, Mrs Hatch," says Katharine.  "You know Heidi and Raven love the theatre.  This is part of an experimental production."

"Oh.  Oh.  I'm so sorry.  How silly of me.  Is that really you?"  She peers at Raven.

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh.  That's quite taken me back.  What a hideous mask."

Raven's smile disappears.

"I don't think I should like to see that play.  I don't like all them horror films and monsters and such."

Raven looks down and swallows hard.  Heidi puts an arm around her.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the housekeeper gets on her knees, "I'll just tidy up and get some fresh.  I am sorry for being so silly."

"Not at all, Mrs Hatch.  It must have been quite a fright."

"Fair gave me a turn, it did."  She stands.  "It looks so real."  She shudders and leaves.

There is silence.  Raven is biting her lips and Heidi is squeezing her shoulders.  Michaels reaches over and pats her hand.  There's really nothing to say.  No-one feels like giving patently false reassurance.

Katharine breaks the silence, saying, "People would always rather believe a simple explanation, even if it's quite impossible.  We reject the abnormal if we can.  I am fond of the philosophers but any belief in the fundamentally rational nature of humanity is, I fear, based on a certain separation from the majority of it."

Charles is listening to the end of Weir's conversation.  It seems that, while he hasn't committed himself to them or their innocence, he has been successful in arguing for a meeting.  Charles feels a rush of relief.  Now he has some time to arrange his arguments for their freedom.

Weir comes in and gives the good news.  Charles shows suspense, relief and gratitude at the appropriate moments, hiding his prior knowledge.

"Some men will come here to evaluate the situation.  If they don't find you a threat, they'll escort us to the station and cars will pick us up from Paddington."

Charles nods.  "Good.  They'll be here soon, I take it?"

"I rather think so."

"Right."  He puts down his tea and tries to remember where the bathroom is.  He sighs.

"What's wrong?" asks Katharine.

"Your bathroom is upstairs, isn't it?"

"Yes.  Oh.  We have a small room downstairs."

"Yes.  Very small as I recall."  Damn.  Every time things are running smoothly and he starts to feel like himself, he's brought up short.  Mostly by stairs.  He thinks he could start to hate stairs.

"Don't sweat it," says Michaels.  "There's some strong young men on their way.  We can lift you."  He crosses his wrists, makes fists and mimes lifting.  "It'll be fine."

Charles nods, shoves away the bitterness and smiles brightly.  "So.  Tell me more of the gossip about Aiden and Wilson."

\---------------

In fact, for the next forty minutes, they cross-examine Charles and Raven for details of their lives and abilities.  Raven sticks pretty closely to the truth.  Charles comes up with some wild stories that make him almost sound like a carnival psychic.  They deflect questions about the last few months and Charles answers Katharine's question about his injury simply with 'an accident'.  They make no mention of any other mutants, only themselves and Shaw.

Raven turns blonde again when the knock comes at the door.  The agents who arrive, to Charles' pleasure, are the ones who were watching the manor and the digs.  He hopes the others notice they are gone, it should make things easier.

The agents don't think a girl and a man in a wheelchair are much of a threat, prejudices that Charles is equally thankful for and irritated by.  They pay a little more attention to Michaels but soon dismiss him as a threat too, based on experience and instinct, as far as Charles can tell.  They search them and when they find no weapons, they give the meeting their provisional approval.  

Charles is aware of Weir waiting for them to reveal their abilities, and disapproving strongly when they don't.

"Professor Xavier."

"Professor Weir?"

"I was under the impression that you were in favour of people having the full facts at their disposal before making important decisions."

"I am also in favour of certain facts being classified.  Since we will be evaluated again before meeting the Prime Minister, I don't see any conflict until then.  These men understand the importance of a need-to-know basis."

The men in question exchange glances but they can't imagine any threat from Charles and Raven that they couldn't counter.  And really, Weir can't either.  But he knows just enough to worry.  Charles suspects thats why he keeps his word and travels with them - to ensure that they do reveal themselves eventually.

\---------------

Once on the train, Raven sits and sketches, clarifying new forms, perhaps to help their escape.  Charles sits by her, staring out of the window, the wheelchair folded up in the luggage space at the end of the carriage.  Three agents share the compartment with them.  Dr Michaels and Professor Weir sit with the other agent in the next compartment.  

Michaels wanted Charles to sleep on the train but he needs to work out exactly what he wants to say to the Prime Minister.  He has one chance to get this right, to create a better framework for the future.  Admittedly, there will probably be another Prime Minister in a few years time but by then, he thinks, their situation will be quite different, and probably elsewhere.  

Also, he wants to work with delicate subtlety on the agents.  In each of their minds, he places two dormant commands that he can activate to instantly paralyse or knock them out.  He strongly hopes that these won't be necessary.  He always thought he might one day use his abilities to help people.  He never wanted to harm or deceive.  He wonders how much of his future will be spent doing dirty work.

They arrive at Paddington station, the agents lift him out and place him in his chair.  One of them offers to push, which he appreciates more than the one who just grabs the handles and starts to push.  He waves both of them off.  The three Daimlers waiting for them are also a hurdle, but he manages, and the quiet praise from Michaels, coupled with the doctor's internal respect for how well he's doing, make him feel better about the whole infernal business.

They pull up outside Number 10 and a secretary comes out to meet them.  So do two more agents and a man who introduces himself as the Head of MI5.  The new agents search them all again, more thoroughly.  Their passports are taken.  Michaels declares his syringes and basic medical equipment.  Weir looks pointedly at Charles.

Charles thinks about making Weir forget but he can't bring himself to tinker with someone else's mind today.  He gestures to Weir who leans down to him.

"How would you like me to tell them?"

"Professor.  Please don't play the faux-naïf."

"You want me to say, 'I'm a mind-reader'.  What was your first thought when I said it?"

"Nevertheless."

"You don't feel that they might decide we're simply fools trying to waste the Prime Minister's time?  You think they'll stand still for a demonstration?"

Weir starts to speak, pauses, looks at the agents then back at Charles in frustration.

"I will tell the Prime Minister.  That's the whole point of my being here."

"I'll make sure you do."

While the agents prepare to lift Charles over the step into the building - with some irritation on their parts, nothing to Charles' own - he senses another mind approaching, strolling down the street.  A brilliant, blazing, beautiful mind that he would know anywhere.  

Fierce joy kindles in his chest.  He turns, the compass to the North, sees the tailored suit, the confident gait, the slight, smug smile and the intense blue eyes fixed on his own.  This will make things more complicated, more confrontational, less likely to succeed, but he can't bring himself to care about that.

With deep satisfaction and a smile he can barely control, he murmurs, "Erik."


	19. Wherein they explore

**Sean**

Sean sits back against the wall and finishes the milk.  Alex is picking up some gravel and flicking pieces at the paving stones where Dr Michaels sat.  Sean doesn't say anything.  There's no right thing to say to Alex in this mood.  Just another way Alex is like Luke.  Sean wonders what his brother is doing now.  He wonders if he's still mad with Sean.

Hank gets hit by a rebound.  He growls at Alex, who bares his teeth in reply.  Hank looks away and doesn't seem anymore inclined than Sean to deal with Alex right now.  He scratches, stands, stretches and in two steps, leaps to the top of the wall.  Sean grins.  He likes to watch Hank bounce around like that.  He hopes it means Hank is becoming as happy in his skills as Sean is in his.

"Hank, get down from there," says Alex.  "What if you're spotted?"

"Wow, yeah," says Hank.  "There's some birds over in those trees.  Maybe they're spy birds.  Maybe they're wearing camera collars."  Hank rolls his eyes.  "There's no-one around."

"There may be poachers."

"Poachers are nocturnal."

"Get down."

"I don't recall you being left in charge."

Alex grits his teeth.  Sean knows he thinks he ought to have been left in charge, after being Mr Lehnsherr's deputy in New York.

To save another row, Sean says, "Let's do the house.  I've never explored a proper old mansion before."

Alex snorts.  "Except the last one."

"That wasn't as old as this.  Hey, maybe we can get some ideas for how to build our new home."  The thought makes him a bit sad.  "Wherever that's gonna be."

\---------------

It's pretty silly to be wandering around with flashlights in the daytime but the shutters and curtains are thick, and Mr Lehnsherr's orders are law.  Sean thinks it probably doesn't make much sense to be less afraid of ghosts in the daytime than the night.  After all, with the house this dark, the ghosts don't know the difference.  Still, he isn't.  Maybe it helps not being tired.

They start in the kitchen and check through all the doors.    They seem to be full of sinks or shelves, all empty.  There are other plain rooms that Hank says were probably used by servants.  There seem to be a lot of them and Sean wonders just how much servants are meant to do.  All the rooms are empty except for a laundry room that for some reason has sheets drying in it.  They consider the giant copper cauldron.

"It was probably used for big washes," says Hank.

"You don't think Mr Lehnsherr meant this when he said metal, do you?" asks Sean.

"Jeez, I hope not," says Alex.

Hank considers.  "I don't think so.  Even if he wants to make something, it couldn't be something this big.  Not and take it with us.  Inconspicuously."  He scratches his claws along the washboard.  Sean grins and bangs the cauldron in a rhythm.  Hank plays a little washboard riff and laughs.  Then he leans past the cauldron.  "Hey, look at this."  

They move round to see him lift a wooden cover off a deep hole.  "It must be the well that Mr Lehnsherr mentioned."  Hank drops a bucket in, holding the rope several feet along.  There is a splash.  Hank pulls up some water.

"Yeuch," says Alex.  "You're not going to drink that?"

"No.  I thought ..., just, the lavatories work, they just can't refill the cisterns.  So I thought I'd refill them.  So we don't leave the Professor's home horrible.  Um."

"It's a good idea," says Sean.  "I'm only hauling one bucketful up all those stairs, though."

"No, I'll do it.  I'm stronger than I used to be.  My legs as well as my arms.  It won't take me long.  You keep going, I'll find you."

Some of the servants' rooms have short flights of stairs leading to the rich people's part of the house.  Once they think they've checked the whole servants' part, and found nothing, they go up the stairs at one at the end of the house and work their way along some big first floor rooms.  There is a two storey ballroom with a balcony at one end and at the other, behind curtains, there are elegant glass doors leading out onto a terrace above a big, overgrown lawn.  Angel laughs and spins across the floor, pretends to curtsey to someone.  Alex and Sean look at each other and shrug.  Alex rolls his eyes.

There is an actual banqueting hall.  At least, that's how it seems to Sean.  It has a wooden walls and a fireplace at each end with chimney seats.  In the middle of the room are two huge tables with benches on either side and carver chairs at each end.  Each window has a window seat hidden behind long red curtains.  "We should have eaten in here last night," says Sean. "This is much cooler."

"Kitchen's better," says Alex.  "Big dining-halls make me think of school or prison.  Before they bumped me into solitary."

Sean doesn't know what to say to that.  He doesn't know how to even think about being in prison at their age.  And being in solitary, that's ... .  To be all alone in a little room, day after day.  Sean shakes his head as he follows them out.  He can't imagine.

There are several completely empty rooms, some leading into each other to form little suites, some larger off the main hall.  Three have amazing wallpaper.  One is cream with colourful birds and gnarly trees and on one side a mountain with mist and opposite it the sea.  Angel says it's oriental.  Alex challenges her and she says she knows about art, which Sean allows is more than either of them do.  Another room has gold patterns on pale green, and painted mouldings on the ceiling.  The last has soft red walls and a raised pattern.  Two other rooms have wooden walls like the banqueting hall.  The lighter one has different colours of wood in patterns and the darker has carving.

Sean is overawed.  "What would someone even do with all these rooms?"

"Spend a lot of time cleaning," says Angel.

"Which is why the servants," says Alex.

"But you'd just spend all your time wondering what room to use today.  You could spend hours wandering around trying to find someone."

"I _think_ ," says Angel, "the different rooms get the light at different times of day.  So, like, one for morning, one for afternoon, one for evening.  I don't know what the others are for.  Maybe avoiding people.  Like you said, you could hide for hours."

"That's..."  Sean can't even imagine.

"That's being rich," says Alex.  "That's having so much money, you have to try to think what to spend it on."

Hank rejoins them at the two storey library, which has a spiral staircase leading to a balcony on the second level.  The books are covered in dust and spiders' webs.  The cleaners only seem to care about one wall, which is clean and has lots of adventure books and scientific textbooks.  

Sean wonders if he could borrow a couple of the adventure books.  Mr Lehnsherr gave them lots to read while they were in the hotel but it was all serious newspapers and magazines, with the occasional second-hand paperback of the kind Sean had to read at school.  Sean imagines he will know he's an adult when he buys such things for himself.  He only read them out of self-defence when he couldn't think of anymore films for Hot Chicks and it was read or die of boredom.  Actually, some of those papers, it was almost the same thing.

He grins in the dark.  "Gone with the Wind," he says, the house making him think of it.

"Vivien Leigh," says Alex at the same time as Angel says "Ann Rutherford".

"What?" says Hank, as they fall to arguing.

"Hot Chicks," says Sean.  "We played at the hotel only you were too deep in your blueprints.  One person names a film or TV show, the others have to say who was the hot chick.  Alex and Angel can't agree on hot."

"He's just odd," says Angel.

"Hey!  Once again, why is it odd to think Marilyn Monroe is hotter than Audrey Hepburn?"

Angel looks at him with pity.  "Audrey Hepburn has class."

"Don't you start on Marilyn.  The lady's barely cold."

Sean sighs and says to Hank, "They've been through this before with 'Some Like it Hot'.  Alex insisted on Joan Shawlee.  Mostly to piss off Angel."

Hank nods and raises his voice a little, though still looking at Sean.  "If you ask me, the best-looking chick in 'Some Like it Hot' was Tony Curtis."

The argument vanishes.  Sean and Hank don't look at them, and Sean can see in Hank's eyes that he's trying not to giggle too.  He nods sagely and says, "Jack Lemmon gave him a good run, though."

They turn as one and walk away.  After three steps there's a burst of laughter behind them and they release their own.

\---------------

In the last room on the first floor, they hit the jackpot.

"A pool table!  Excellent," says Alex, "do you think the balls and cues are still here?"  He pulls open a cupboard.

"It looks bigger than a pool table," says Sean, " and the baize is green."

"Baize, six pockets.  The rest is detail."  He opens another cupboard.  "Yes!"

They each take a cue and daringly open one curtain about six inches.  There are two sets of balls - pool and snooker.  They set up for pool and pair up, Sean and Alex versus Angel and Hank.

Alex and Angel start by each taking a ball and hitting them from the line at the same time.  "Aren't we meant to take turns?" asks Sean.  

"You never played, Banshee?" asks Alex.  The balls bounce off the end cushion and come to rest near the cushion.

"Couple of times.  With my brother."

"You lag to see who goes first.  Nearest to the line wins it."

"Like marbles."

Alex's smile says 'Aw, how cute' and Sean wants to wipe it off his face.  It makes him feel like the two years between them is more a gulf than a gap.  He flushes and turns to Hank, notices then that his friend looks nervous.  Low-voiced, he tells him, "Don't worry.  You'll clean the floor with us."

Hank looks in disbelief.  "I've never played," he murmurs.

"It's science, right?  Maths and physics?  Your kind of game."

"I guess.  I just ... .  I'm not very sure of my own strength any more.  I keep over- or underestimating what I can do.  I ...," he casts a swift glance at Alex and Angel, who are engaging in ritual abuse, and then pulls up his sleeve and shows Sean a bandage with a few red dots showing through.  "I scratched so hard I split my skin."

"Ouch."  Sean shrugs.  "Just ... do the scientist thing.  Experiment."

Hank smiles.  "I can do that."

"And try not to scratch."

"Oh God, it's worse than chickenpox.  And now I'm thinking about it."  He starts on a shoulder.

"Hank, stop."  Sean pulls at Hank's arm.

"How do women stand shaving their legs all the time?"

"We wax," says Angel.  She tosses the cue ball to Alex.  "Break."

At first it looks as though Hank won't get a chance to experiment.  Alex pots two balls before he misses an easy shot and swears.  Angel takes over and sinks three balls before finding herself blocked.  Sean's turn.  He rubs chalk on his cue and wishes Alex and Angel weren't so good at this.  He guiltily hopes Hank will be as bad as he fears but is pretty sure that when he gets the swing of it, he'll be as good as the others.  Pool isn't Sean's game, he grew up playing cards and baseball.  Just as long as he doesn't make a completely stupid shot, he won't mind.

He gets his wish.  The four ball almost goes in the middle pocket, double bouncing off the corners, and that could happen to anyone, right?  So now it's Hank's turn.

Hank gazes intently at the table, prowling all the way round.  He does look like a hunting animal, Sean can't help thinking, like his auntie's cat.  He almost expects Hank to crouch and spring at a ball.  Instead he chooses an angle and leans over.  "Three ball, corner pocket."

"Hey, partner," says Angel, "you sure you want to try that?"

"Yup."  Hank pulls the cue back and almost makes a beautiful pot.  It stops just short.

Angel grins.  "Ni-ice.  Just a little more power, we'll have you hustling downtown in no time."

Hank smiles and dips his head.  Sean feels happy for him, even though it means he'll probably be too embarrased to play with them himself.  They'll have to ask Dr Michaels.  Or Mr Lehnsherr.  He grins at that thought, then remembers they're not staying here.

"We should get a pool table in the new place," he says.

"A whole games room," says Alex, as he lines up his next shot.  "With darts and a basketball hoop."

Alex pots two more, Angel the same.  Sean is irritated when Alex points out a shot to him, and even more when he misses.  Not his game.  He reminds himself that last week he beat them all at poker.

Hank stalks another shot and lines up.  "Seven ball corner pocket."  He shoots.  Sean barely sees the cue ball move.  The seven ball goes off the table and the cue ball rebounds at Hank so fast that he rears back.  There is the sound of ripping and scraping.  The claws of his left hand, the one that was bridging, have torn five long gashes in the table, wide rips in the baize, clear scratches in the slate.

Alex whistles.  "Way to make your mark, Beast."

"Don't call me that!"  The words are almost lost in the roar.  The sound of the pool cue snapping certainly is, but Sean sees Hank's horrified look and the top half falling away.

Alex laughs.

Hank raises the broken cue as a club.  

Sean last remembers moving this fast when he was suddenly charged by a dog.  He and Angel stumble over each other in their haste to get between them, raising their palms to ward him, to calm him.  Hank roars again but doesn't strike.  He turns and hurls the broken cue at the wall, where it breaks further and leaves dents.

Angel steps up to Alex.  "Go.  Away.  Now."

He shrugs, spins his own cue, lays it neatly on the table and walks out.

Sean approaches Hank from the front, slowly, hands slightly spread, shoulders slouching slightly to lessen his height and therefore threat.  Not that Hank isn't already taller than him but every little helps.  Hank is panting and growling on every out-breath.

Sean tries to use the voice his father uses on angry brawlers - low, serene, chatty.  "Easy now, Hank.  Deep breaths, lad."

"Don't talk to me like that.  I'm not an animal.  I'm not."

"I know that.  I'm trying to copy my Dad.  He's a patrolman.  He says an angry human is just as dangerous as an animal.  So, deep breaths.  Think calmly now.  No need to let this spoil your day."

Hank's lip actually quivers, which is not what Sean expected.  "It makes it so hard to think.  The Beast.  He," his voice catches, "he's right, you see.  There is a beast inside me now and sometimes," his voice tightens, softens in volume and rises in pitch, "it gets hard to think."

Angel pats him.  Sean doesn't know what to say.  What would his father say?  Maybe, "You're a strong man, Hank.  You got it under control."

"You call this being under control?"

"Yes!" says Angel.

"Of course!" says Sean.  "Out of control would be breaking our heads.  Hell, out of control would be biting and tearing.  You are a man.  You're a scientist.  You work with your mind, not your emotions."  Oh, now he understands.  "And even if the beast makes that harder, you're still number one."

Hank sniffs.  "How can I be a man, looking like this?"

Angel says, "Ever heard that it's what's inside that counts?  I've met a couple people who looked human but inside they were just animals.  You're not.  Believe me, I know."

"Me too."

Hank sniffs again and scrubs his eyes a little.  "You know, not all scientists are that good at putting their minds above their feelings."

Sean says, "We aspire.  We strive.  The world will oft disappoint us; more reason then that we don't disappoint ourselves."

They stare at him.

He shrugs.  "That's what my Dad says.  He gets lyrical after a couple whiskeys."

Angel smiles at him, a sweet, approving smile, and he blushes.

Hank says, "I like that.  I want to write that down."

Now Sean joins Angel to stare at him.

"The Professor and Mr Lehnsherr both want to start something new, and we should have something strong and ... and ... exemplary to ground that in.  We need practicality, but we need ideals too.  Or it'll just be the same old thing, all over again.  We should choose the best, and hold onto it."

"How do we choose what's the best?"

"Everyone can choose for themselves, but if there's anything we all agree on, it gets written down as important."

Sean smiles.  He likes that his Dad will be part of the future they're building.  He hopes his Dad will be pleased too.  He hopes he'll get a chance to tell him.  "So," he says to Hank, "does this mean next time we shave you, we do it with tweezers?"

Hank flashes him a shocked look then gives a short laugh and shakes his head.  "Right.  Uh, no.  No, I'm not shaving again unless I have to.  I can't stand the itching."

"How about an all over wax?" asks Angel, then she laughs as Hank shudders.

\---------------

There's no way to fix the table, so they tidy up, close the curtains and go to find Alex.  He is lying at the top of the stairs, making patterns with his flashlight on the ceiling.

"There's cupboards under the stairs," he calls.  "There's nothing in them.  The ceilings here are pretty, though."

"Put pretty ceilings on the list," says Sean.

Hank says, "I'm sure the Professor and Mr Lehnsherr will accept that as vital to the enhancement of our new ... our new what?"  They sit down in a row on the top step.  "What are we going to be, anyway?  A group, I guess."

"Boring," says Alex.  "A team.  A squad."

"Gah," says Angel.

"An agency?" suggests Sean.  "An association?"

"Too formal," says Alex.  "Not dynamic enough.  A band.  A league."

"A brotherhood."

"A circle."

"A caucus."

"A what?"

"You know, politics?"

"An assembly."

"A union."

"Mr Lehnsherr wants an army," says Angel.

"Yeah, well, he's not getting one here," says Sean.

Alex scuffs his feet on the step.  "Naw, not an army.  But.  That tattoo.  Do you know what his people went through?  It just, it made me think.  Maybe he knows better than we do how this is going to go down."

Angel nods.  Hank and Sean exchange a worried look.  Sean says, "Alex, are you serious?"

"I'm not saying all that 'we must have a war' shit is right.  I'm not gonna just blindly do whatever he says.  I'm just saying," he waves his flashlight around, "maybe when times get bad, we'll have to be ready to defend ourselves rather than just hide and hope for the best.  When I was in solitary, there was this prison visitor who came once a week and she'd bring me books.  There was one by this girl, a diary by this Jewish girl."

"Anne Frank," says Angel.

"Right.  Hiding didn't do her a lot of good."

Sean says, "That doesn't mean ... .  Look, my Dad has people swearing at him and attacking him.  Sometimes even people he's trying to help.  He still tries to help them.  He says they're assholes and so why would he try to model himself on them?  He says people like that just show you what you don't want to be."

"Your Dad sounds a pretty amazing guy," says Angel.

"He is."  Sean is so proud of his Dad.  Whatever Luke says.

"Yeah," says Alex.  "And most people aren't.  Mr Lehnsherr knows that better than any of us, even me and I was locked up with lowlifes."

"You were in solitary."

"Do you know why I was in solitary?"

Sean shrugs.  "I thought it was so you wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Partly.  And partly so they wouldn't hurt me.  It kept me away from guys who wanted... ."  He scratches at his forehead and stands abruptly.  "Damn, I wish we could open this place up.  I hate being shut up like this."

Angel takes his hand.  "It's not prison."

He snatches it away.  "I know that."

Hank says, "Do you want to go outside for a while?"

"No.  Forget it, I'm fine.  Let's just get this done."

They follow him down the corridor.  After a few steps he stops and rubs his forehead again.  He half turns to them.  "Sorry."  He stares at the wall.  "I spent a lotta time as a kid playing tag with the cops.  When I got outta prison, I thought I was going to serve my country.  And now I'm back where I started."  He looks at them.  "I'm not going back to prison."

Hank says gently, "Alex.  What you're saying is, hope for the best, prepare for the worst.  Right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"The Professor is hope.  And he's preparing us as by teaching us to use our powers the best we can.  Okay, so maybe he's a bit over-optimistic, but that's why we have Mr Lehnsherr.  They balance.  The Professor will help us towards the good.  Mr Lehnsherr will help us defend against the bad."

Alex nods slowly. 

"So come on.  Let's keep exploring.  I like the layout of this place, I think we could copy it for the school."

"School?" they say.  From their voices, the others don't like that any more than Sean.

"Sure."  He moves his flashlight from face to face.  "Our new school for mutants."

"I am not going back to school," says Sean.

"You haven't even graduated yet."

"I don't need to graduate."

"Of _course_ you need -"

Alex says, "I didn't graduate."  He shrugs like it's no big deal.

Hank says.  "They found you in prison.  What's your point?"

Angel says, "I have graduated and I'm done with school learning.  All I want to do is a jewellery course and maybe a small business course."

"Really?"  Hank spins his light into her eyes.  She squinches them and waves her hand in the beam until he drops it a little.

"Really.  But I'll settle for living in a mansion.  And from what I've seen, Mr Lehnsherr and the Professor aim for certain standards of comfort that I could force myself to put up with."

Alex snorts. "Like crummy hotels and dusty, haunted mansions?"

"How many mansions do you own?  So far the Professor's scored two.  I don't think things are gonna stay dusty for long."

"They're talking about building our new place.  From scratch.  I'm seeing a little more dust in our future."

"I'm seeing a better class of hotel."

"What do you know about hotels?  You do something more than stripping?"

Sean sees fire kindle in Angel's eyes.  She draws a breath and he has a horrible feeling fire's about to kindle on Alex's clothes.  This time it's him and Hank who form a shield in front of Alex.

"Come on," says Sean.  "It's Alex.  Don't let him get to you."

"He's an idiot and he's going to apologise," says Hank.

"Hey!"

Sean and Hank turn on him.  Sean's glare is lost because Alex is pointing his flashlight at Hank.  Still he says, "Hey yourself.  That was low."

"All right.  You're right.  I'm sorry."

"I'm sick of your stupid cracks," says Angel.  "You know nothing about me.  Zilch."

Hank looks at her.  "Zilch?"

"Yeah."

"What does that mean?"

She looks in surprise.  "It means nothing."

"I thought so. From context."

"You've never heard that?" asks Sean.

"I basically lived in an underground lab. I didn't hear much new slang."

"You wild thing," says Alex.

The other three turn to him, exasperated.  "Alex," says Sean, "Seriously, give him a break."

"What?"  He looks at Hank.  "I don't get what you're so sensitive about."

"Would you like to be called a beast?"

"Sure, why not?  It's a compliment.  Sexy beast, wild thing, a beast of an engine.  A beast is a powerful thing.  I never meant it as an insult."

"Well, it felt like one."

"Then I'm sorry."

"And you laughed at me when I screwed up."

Alex sighs.  He scrubs his hand through his hair.  "I know I'm not the most sensitive guy.  But listen.  When my powers first were coming in, I knocked down a tree, set fire to our lounge, sliced and burned a vaulting horse, and burned down a whole fucking building.  And I actually hurt people.  My Dad, when he put out the lounge, my ex's brother in the building."  

They all look with interest but he waves it away.  

"Long story.  Anyway, I don't think you're doing that bad.  And breaking that cue right after ripping the table, that was pretty funny.  All that you needed to make classic slapstick would be for a ball to knock you on the forehead or get stuck in your mouth.  Or maybe for you to get tangled in ripped up baize and fall over."  He is grinning broadly.

Sean says, "The first time my powers hit, I was in the kitchen and my baby sister and I were playfighting.  She suddenly tickled me and I screamed and broke all the glass in the room.  Another time, I knocked my brother back into the wall when we were yelling at each other.  And another, I just yawned and shook the whole house, and half my Mom's ornaments smashed, _including_ her framed picture of the Virgin, from Lourdes.  That was when that the Professor came along, like an answer to their prayers."

"My first time," says Angel, "was when I was thirteen and Lorraine Delacourt had pinched some cigarettes from her Mom.  We all sat in her basement and took turns and I got this terrible burning in my throat.  I didn't want to say anything 'cause I didn't want to look like a wimp and people were already making fun of me in the showers because of the weird lines growing on my skin.  Some kids thought I was getting tattoos, some accused me of having a skin disease.

"Anyway, the burning got stronger and I could feel it like it was just past the back of my tongue, something swelling there.  I looked at the others and you could tell Lorraine had already been practising, and Margie was almost choking trying not to cough, and Linda was doing OK.  I took another drag and it felt like I'd swallowed a fireball and I just spat it out right there in the middle of everyone and burned a hole in the floor."

She shrugs.  "It pretty much put all of us off smoking."

They laugh.  Sean says, "It's probably going to be the way it is for mutants.  Maybe we gotta laugh about it.  No big deal, just growing pains."

Angel says, "Mutant puberty's a bitch.  Humans don't know how easy they got it."

Sean says, "I'm human."

Angel shrugs.  "Whatever."  She stands up.  "You guys ready for the second floor?"

They set out again.  Alex says, "So you've never smoked since?"

"I tried one other time and the same thing happened.  Never again.  You guys?"

"I used to," says Alex, "but I had to give it up in solitary.  Made it kinda hard to get smokes.  Not that some of the guards wouldn't have slipped me some but there was this one guard, McLean, who was a real asshole and I didn't want to get the others into trouble.

"I thought of getting some to celebrate getting out, but the boss, Mr Lehnsherr, told me he quit when he ran out of cigarettes on this stakeout and he couldn't leave to get more because it was just him and he got so wound up and fidgety that he decided it was stupid to be dependent on dried leaves.  So he never started again.  I figured that seemed smart."

"My sister has asthma," says Sean, as he thinks about 'the boss' and how much time Alex spent with Mr Lehnsherr in New York, "and the doctor said it might not be good for her to breathe in smoke.  My parents quit straight out and terrified the rest of us into never trying."  The boss.  Maybe.  He's not quite sure what Mr Lehnsherr intends, though.  Whether Sean would be able to carry through his orders.  He doubts it.  And now he's wondering what Alex would have chosen on the beach.

"I was always worried it would affect my experiments," says Hank.  "You know, a fall of ash here, an accidental butt there."

Sean and Alex burst into sniggers.

Angel says, "We got some of those in the strip club," and they both laugh loud and long.

Sean figures ghosts don't like laughter, so they should be safe for today.

\---------------

They don't find anything in the house that they can usefully remove.  On the second floor, there are bedrooms, bathrooms, a long wide hallway decorated with stylised paintings of maps on the ceiling and foreign city scenes between the windows.  At one end they find the balcony above the ballroom and at the other, a little door into the upper level of the library.

On the third floor are a lot of small plain rooms that they think were probably for the staff, and some big attics that have a small number of trunks in.  They are disappointed in each other when it turns out no-one can pick a lock.  Hank picks up a couple of trunks and shakes them, but the sounds aren't encouraging.

So they head outside again.  It's good to be out in the sun and they take some time to loll about in the walled garden again before searching the first outbuilding.  

They start with the car barn.  The others left the lock looking closed but not.  In the barn they mostly find rusty, old tools, that Hank says are for gardening and farming, and a strange, big metal and wood contraption that Hank says is a plough, an old one meant to be pulled by oxen.   They choose the metal that's in the best state and pile it near the door.  They can't see any use for the rest of the stuff, so they go out to the next building.

They choose a stable, long cleaned out, with eight stone stalls and a ladder up to a big, empty hay loft.  There aren't even any harnesses.  Not that Sean can think of anything to do with harnesses.  Angel says she can think of a couple of things and the way she says it, along with the swing of her hips, leaves Sean blushing and Alex fixed to the spot.  Hank studies his feet, curling his toes in wave patterns and spreading them wide.

Alex clears his throat.  "Next building."

The next building, maybe another barn, is locked with a padlock.  There is a high window with a rickety shutter, though.

Sean sizes it up.  "I could blow it out," he says.

"Or me," says Alex.

Sean looks at him.  "You don't have your aiming device."

"Yeah, but ... um.  Hell."

"I could burn a hole in it," says Angel.

"Not a big one, though," says Sean.  "It'd take you a lot of holes to make it worthwhile."

"I guess."

Sean nods.  Then he sighs.  "Hank."  He gestures at the shutter.  "Yours."

Hank bows and finds himself a handhold on the wall, starts to pull himself up.  He does it easily.

"I miss using my powers," says Sean.  "I want to fly.  I want to scream something down.  I want to do sonar again or whatever else the Professor can think of."

"I wouldn't mind getting back into the skies," says Angel.

"I can live without," says Alex.  "I mean, it's cool when they work but when they don't ... ."  He shakes his head.

Hank is examining the shutter.  "I was always kinda scared of my body.  It felt good when the Professor convinced me to explore what I could do.  I always thought what I could do was cool.  I just wanted so much more to be normal."

They don't say anything.

He waves at them.  "Say it."

"Nice job."

"You screwed up big time."

"Wa-ay beyond that now."

Hank nods and sighs.  He lifts one shutter and it slides out of its hinges.  He holds it with one hand and climbs into the gap.

Then he climbs back out again, and cocks his head.  After a moment he says, "Car,"  He starts to put the shutter back.

Sean is alarmed, Angel looks to be the same.  "Did we shut the back door?"

"Yes."  Alex is calm, alert, looking in the direction of the road.  "Hank, can you tell what kind of car it is?  Is it the kind of Ford that went out this morning?"

Hank listens again.  "Yes."

Sean, Angel and Hank relax.  Alex says, "Doesn't mean it's them.  Why aren't they running silent?  Get out of sight.  Hank, can you keep watch over the roof?"

"Sure."

He swings himself up, while the other three simply hide behind the barn.  Now they can all hear the car.  They hear when it stops.  After a moment, they hear a loud whistle.  Then Alex relaxes.  Hank jumps down beside them.  He looks troubled.  "It's only Mr Lehnsherr," he says.  "The other three aren't with him."

\---------------

They watch as Mr Lehnsherr separates and examines the pile of metal.  It's not much of a haul.  Sean doesn't care.  Sean's pissed.  He just doesn't know how to tell Mr Lehnsherr.  He looks at Alex.  Hank is doing the same from the other side.  Alex silently protests and looks between the two of them while they make 'go on' gestures.

Angel surprises Sean.  She says, "Hey, boss."

Mr Lehnsherr at them, eyebrows raised.  He drops some old ball bearings into his pocket and summons a pair of garden shears.

"You sure they'll be OK?"

"Of course.  Charles and Raven are quite capable of dealing with a handful of humans."  He opens the shears and snaps off one blade.

"Right.  So you didn't need to go with them."

"This is their choice."  He drops the rest of the shears and starts wiping the blade over one hand as though he's sharpening it.  Probably he is.

"Sure.  But you don't think it's the right one."

"No."  

"But you're sure they'll be fine."

"Yes."  He drops the blade down the back of his neck, inside his clothes.  

They don't say anything.  He crouches down beside the plough and starts taking it apart.  The rusted nuts painfully twist themselves to the demands of his fingers, old bolts drag themselves free at his will.

Alex says, "You're sure then?"

Mr Lehnsherr sighs.  "They are powerful and skilled enough to escape any threat."  The nuts and bolts stow away in his pockets.  He takes hold of a chain that hangs between two shafts, starts working to free it.

"But you think they're in danger?"

"They intend to hand themselves over to a government that is searching for them as spies.  They're not going to be greeted with wine and canapés.  But they know that.  They went into danger with open eyes and by their own choice."  He pulls the chain free.  

Sean wants to show he agrees with the others.  He tries to think of something to say.  Mr Lehnsherr wraps one end of the chain around his hand and the rest begins to writhe and twist.  Sean's sidetracked, amazed.  Seeing someone else using their powers is really neat, 'specially since Mr Lehnsherr's had so much practice.

A snap of his wrist and the chain flicks out to straight and coils back, like a striking snake.   He throws his arm out and the chain leaps out across the barn and wraps around a wooden pillar.  He jerks his shoulder back and it spins off and returns to him, taking his hand and coiling up, poised to strike at his will.   He throws it out again, holds his hand spread wide and the chain spins in the air at full length.  It hovers in one place for a moment then swoops around the barn, mirroring his hand, which suddenly turns towards them.

They drop and Sean hears the chain whip over their heads.  He spins low and sees it fly outside the door then stop and zip back to its master.

"Nice reflexes," says the scary son of a bitch.

"Je-sus," says Alex.

They stand slowly.  OK, Sean's getting kinda sick of Mr Lehnsherr almost killing him in the name of training.  "So."  Sean clears his throat to drop it octave.  "So we're just meant to hang out at the airport," he swallows to clear whatever it is that's trying to strangle his voice - he thinks it might be his common sense, "and if we don't hear anything, if we don't know what's happened to them, we bug out?  That's the plan?"  Saying it makes him mad again and it's not too hard to speak now.

"Yes."

The man doesn't care.  He doesn't even get it.  Sean wants to tell him that he's a coward and a traitor, but he's not quite mad enough to go that far.  He tries anyway to say how he feels but Alex beats him to it.

"Where did you say they'd gone?"

"Corpus Christi College."

Alex takes the car keys out of his pocket and starts towards their car.  "OK, well, enjoy the airport.  I hope we'll see you later."

Sean feels like whooping as he follows.  He opens the passenger door and looks back at the others.  Hank shifts from foot to foot, looks down at himself.  Angel shakes her head then looks between the car and Mr Lehnsherr.  Mr Lehnsherr just looks exasperated.

"Come on," says Alex.  "Hank, if this works out, you won't have to hide anymore.  Angel, you gotta come."  He grins at her.  "We're gonna need someone to ask directions."

She rolls her eyes but smiles.  Hank clenches his fists and gives a sharp nod.  He lopes to the car and opens the rear door.  

Angel looks at Mr Lehnsherr.  "Won't you come?" she asks.  "We'll probably screw up if you don't."

"It's a beautiful gesture, but pointless.  Your presence won't help Charles and Raven escape, you'll hinder them.  Neither your powers nor Alex's allow for stealth, Hank knows full well he can't hide, and Sean hasn't got full control or precision."

Alex smacks the roof of the car.  "No-one's saying you're not the best one to go but look," he sweeps his arm out, "you're not!  So we will."

"Charles didn't ask for any of us ... "

"I don't care!  You don't leave your friends in danger.  Even if you're pissed with them, even if you think they're wrong or just plain nuts.  Even if they're dragging you into a major shit storm, you don't, you just don't!"

Mr Lehnsherr stares at Alex for a long moment, then gazes out the door and Sean can't read him.  Alex twitches a couple times and Sean guesses he's thinking of just leaving.  They wait, though, and Mr Lehnsherr speaks softly.  "He didn't ask for help on the beach either."  After another moment he says, "Idiot."

He turns back to them.  "All right.  Here," he takes out some money and holds it out to Sean, "for food."

Sean is startled, but the mention of food makes his stomach tighten and he leaps to take the cash.

"I saw the agents leaving here as I arrived so you should be safe to use the village shop but try not to let anyone know where you're staying.  One of you be in the pub, the Greenman, at seven this evening.  We'll try to call you there.  If you don't hear anything by closing time ..." he takes a very deep breath, "call Agent MacTaggert.  Unless you can think of a better plan.  You'll have to get to another country and I haven't enough money to pay for that."

"What about calling the Professor's Mom?"

"They'll be watching her."  The chain slides into his sleeve.  "I'll get changed before I go.  Apparently I need to look like an English gentleman."

He goes and the others relax in relief.

"Wow," says Sean.  "He went for it."  And now he hoped that it wouldn't all go horribly wrong.

\---------------

The rest of the day would have been a lot easier if they had had something more involving to do.  They find some buckets and containers in the outbuildings and Angel suggests they fill them with water and leave them in the bathrooms for washing.  

"I'm starting to feel really skanky," she owns.

Alex says to Hank, "You're going to spend a fortune on shampoo."

Hank snorts.  "You haven't had much to do with animals, have you?  Daily brushing will do."

"You hope."

The most interesting thing for Sean is food shopping.  He and Alex go over the wall by the gate and wander along the grassy verge until they reach the village.  There are actual cottages, several with pretty low doorways, the sort that Hank or even Mr Lehnsherr would have to bend to get through.  There are smart houses and creeper-covered ones, ones set right on the road and others protected by small gardens with bushes and bare trees.

The village shop, which they find after a couple wrong turns, has a limited stock and a shopkeeper who is surely the biggest gossip in the world.  She pleasantly questions them on their entire lives while holding their shopping ransom.  Sean is quite proud of how vague they keep it.  He figures they're lucky, though, that another couple of customers arrive so they get to pay and leave.

Back with the others, they eat like horses, gulping down the food and forcing themselves to save more for supper.  And maybe breakfast.  Then they spend the afternoon exploring, wandering, wondering whether they will have to run again soon or whether they might be able to settle.  Sean can't help hoping that they might even be able to go home.  Maybe the British will speak on their behalf.  He doesn't say this to the others.

They end up sitting all together on the wall of the garden, watching the sunset.  There are smears of cloud near the horizon and scraps in the sky, and all are molten gold below and pink grey above, set on a light blue sky.  They've run out of things to talk about and a cool wind starts to stroke them but they don't want to go back into the dark.  

The setting sun reminds Sean of days camping with his Dad and he starts murmuring camp fire songs.  He's surprised when they others join in but singing silly kids' songs seems a cheerful way to pass the time.

In the end, Alex heads off to the pub.  The rest of them build a fire outside that Angel ignites with one spit.  They toast some bread and cheese for variety, and wait.


	20. Wherein there is a lot of talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have done very little research into Macmillan. I don't imagine my depiction is in anyway accurate. It's just what I need it to be.  
> The German pronuncation of Lehnsherr is 'Lanes-hare'.

**Erik**

The expression on Charles' face is satisfying.  The people surrounding him follow his gaze and six of them put their hands into their jackets.  Erik likes the idea of ripping the guns from their grasps and pointing them back at their owners.  He settles for placidly holding out his arms as he approaches and letting them search him.

"Charles, Raven," he greets them.

Raven looks hopeful and worried.  Charles is wearing a serene smile but his eyes are dancing.  Erik is ... glad.  Yes.  It feels good to know that Charles is happy to see him, though he must know Erik isn't here to make his life easier.  Surely he knows that by now.

"Why are you here?" asks Charles.

"You'll be hard put to escape their dungeon in that contraption.  I thought it might be easier with three of us."

Charles laughs.  "I regret we don't use dungeons any more.  Would you be willing to escape from a mere police cell?"

"How dull.  I thought you approved of challenges."

"I think the rest of the day will be full of them."

One of the agents takes Erik's German passport from his pocket and hands it to the senior man, the one who did not bother with his gun.  The others are puzzling over the large quantity of random metal items in his pockets.

"Erik Lehnsherr," says the man.  "Another of the people on our list.  How kind of you to deliver yourself."

"I live to spread joy."

The man snorts, Erik's friends smile helplessly.  The man introduces himself as Sir Kenneth Harris, the Head of MI5, and says, "Well, Rigby?"

"Nothing, sir.  He's unarmed."

Erik looks at Charles, knowing that only his friend will see the smirk in his eyes.  

 _You know I'm not going to toe your line,_ thinks Erik.

 _I know, my friend._

Once again, Erik is glad.  He pulls his eyes from Charles' before his smile grows and faces Harris, raises his eyebrows.

Harris says, "Would you tell me why you are here, sir, to the surprise of your colleagues as well as the rest of us?"

"I am willing to put my point of view to the Prime Minister, though, unlike my colleagues, I have no faith that it will matter to him.  I decided to come after them to make sure you don't lock them up and throw away the key."

Harris looks at him hard.  Erik knows he's wondering how he could achieve that without a weapon.  He wonders himself whether MI5 have heard anything about mutants.

Apparently not.  Harris says, "Dr Michaels will wait in an anteroom with two agents.  Professor Xavier, Professor Weir, Herr Lehnsherr and Miss Xavier will meet the Prime Minister in company with the rest of us.  The Americans were insistent that you are dangerous individuals.  Any attempt or perceived attempt on your part to harm the Prime Minister will result in your immediate restraint by whatever means necessary."

Erik concedes that Harris has an air of authority; that speech might have been a deterrent to humans.

"Have you spoken to the Americans yet?" asks Charles.

Harris doesn't answer, merely gestures to the agents to lift Charles into the building.  He gives the secretary the four passports and sends her ahead.

\---------------

It isn't surprising that they have to wait to see the Prime Minister.  Erik and Charles are unbothered.  Raven is nervous.  Erik notices that Michaels pats her hand and gives her a reassuring smile.  Raven returns a grateful one.  Michaels murmurs to her.  One of the agents says, "What did you say?"

Michaels blushes.  "I was just saying I, uh, love the decor.  I mean, of course, I know it would be, I mean, this is your White House so ... you're not going to have, you know, orange crates and Elvis posters or ... whatever..."

"Shut up," says Erik.

"Thanks," says Gus in relief.

They don't talk again, not even telepathically.  Weir keeps giving Charles distrustful looks.  Erik factors that in as one more possible obstacle to their escape.

Finally, the door opens and they are invited in.  Harris is sitting to the right of the Prime Minister, the two of them on one side of a long table.  The six agents position themselves around the room.  The secretary politely removes a chair for Charles to sit opposite the Prime Minister.  Erik and Raven take seats on either side, Erik sitting back and crossing his ankles, Raven sitting straight to attention.  Weir sits to one side, sitting forward and keeping a hard eye on them.

The Prime Minister's voice is that of an aristocrat, his expression shows interest and scepticism, his bearing has the ease of a man confident of his safety.  How will he react when he discovers that confidence is so deeply mistaken?

"Professor Charles Xavier, Miss Raven Xavier, Herr Erik Lehnsherr."  He has a good German accent and pronounces Erik's surname the German way.  "According to Jack Kennedy, you are dangerous spies.  According to Professor Weir, Kennedy may have left out some crucial information.  So.  What are you according to yourselves?"

Charles says, "Mutants."

That arrests them.  Erik hopes they won't immediately return the favour.

"We were born different.  Genetic mutation occurs in all species as a natural part of evolution.  In humans, it has been responsible for opposable thumbs, stronger immune systems and white skin, among much else.  In the past few decades, however, genetic mutation in humans has, in a small number of cases, produced more extreme abilities.

"I am a telepath, capable of reading and transmitting thoughts, deceiving and affecting other minds, and mental control of other people.  Raven is a shapeshifter, capable of assuming any human appearance that she can envisage.  Erik is capable of creating and manipulating magnetic forces.  And you don't believe a word of it.  Raven?"

Raven stands and takes her own form.  Their shock is palpable.  For a man famously coolheaded, Macmillan does a good impression of a landed fish.  Raven gives them a slow twirl, stands for a moment, then she takes the form of each person in the room followed by a couple of female forms, before returning to her own.  She sits, raises her chin and looks the Prime Minister in the eye.

The stares are dragged away from her when Charles says, _Gentlemen, what state or personal secrets should I extract from your minds to prove my own abilities?_   He is quiet for a few moments, but from the looks on the men's faces, he is still speaking to them.  Raven shocked them, Charles is dismaying them.

Then Charles turns to Erik.  "Would you care to give your own demonstration, sir?"

"Gladly."  And Erik does what he wanted to outside.  He crosses his wrists so his palms are pointing across his shoulders at the two men behind them.  Then he makes grabbing motions with his fingers, turns his hands swiftly, smoothly, repeating the finger movements each time he feels the metal of the guns.  The guns are pulled from the shoulder holsters.  Minute movements and the guns are armed and turned to point at their owners, levitating a couple of feet from their faces.

Charles dismayed them, Erik scares them.

Two of the men freeze, two stumble back, two start to move.

 _STOP._

Erik hears the command, feels the power of it and is glad it's not aimed at him.   From the looks on the faces of the men opposite, they heard it too.

The agents all go rigid where they are, their eyes glassy.  Macmillan and Harris look at them and then turn to Charles in awe.

"By now," says Charles, "you are probably close to the frame of mind that caused the American and Russian governments to want to kill us, despite our innocence of any wrong doing."

 _Be free._

The agents jerk and come to themselves.

"Erik?"  Charles looks his request.

Erik shrugs, puts the safety on each gun and turns them grip first to the men.

"You can take them," says Charles.  "It's quite all right."

One after another, they do and immediately arm and point them at the three mutants.  Erik smiles at them and keeps his hands raised.  They look worried, unable to see the magnetic shield that he has formed around the three of them.

Charles addresses the Prime Minister, leaning forward on the table, hands loosely clasped.  "You understand now why President Kennedy said we were dangerous.  I hope you will give me a chance to explain why that is too simplistic.  Provisionally accept that we are no threat to you.  We don't have to hurt any of you to leave here safely and disappear.  We simply want you to hear our side of the story."

Weir says, "Prime Minister.  The abilities Xavier has just shown greatly exceed what he showed me.  I am sorry.  If I had known the full extent of his abilities, I would never have asked you to meet him."

"It's all right, Dennis.  I rather imagine that's why he didn't tell you."  Macmillan seems to have recovered some of his aplomb.  "I am glad you asked me to meet him.  You can wait outside now.  The six of you here, put your guns away.  I imagine they won't do us a bit of good."

The six agents slowly obey him.  Weir looks distrustful but leaves.

Charles says, "I'm sorry our demonstration was quite so dramatic.  It was truly not meant to threaten or intimidate you."  He looks at Erik.  "No, I came here to be honest.  Raven and I have no intention to threaten or intimidate you.  Erik and I don't always see eye to eye on the best course of action."

Erik prefers to speak for himself.  "I meant to threaten you.  You should know what the dangers are that you will risk or avoid by your decision.  But I am not here to hurt or kill you.  I won't endanger my companions that way.  And frankly, if I wanted you dead, you would be.  I wouldn't need you to open the door to me and I wouldn't have waited forty minutes in the anteroom."

"I see.  The two of you seem to have quite different ideas about why you're here."

Charles says, "We're not the same person.  Just as you and your advisers don't always agree, we debate, argue, try to find different ways through a situation."

"I see.  So which of you is in charge?"

Erik and Charles look at each other, challenge and amusement passing between them.

"Excellent question," says Erik.

"Indeed.  I think it rather depends," Charles turns back to the Prime Minister, "on whose vision of the future comes true.  And that rather depends on you."

Macmillan sits back, laces his fingers and regards them with narrowed eyes.  "Well, Professor, Herr Lehnsherr.  You have our attention.  So let us have your story."

\---------------

Charles tells the story from his point of view all the way up to the beach.  Erik and Raven occasionally add a detail.  The men only interrupt to ask for clarification.  Charles leaves out personal details and is vague about the abilities of the young people.  At one point, Macmillan signals an agent and after a few moments the secretary comes in with a jug of water and some glasses.  At last, Charles describes the battle in Cuba, Shaw's death and the missile attack.

Macmillan turns to Erik, looking in wonder.  "You stopped a full barrage of missiles?"

"Yes."  He shows his teeth.  "And then I turned them back on the ships.  I would have destroyed them all, but Charles stopped me."

Macmillan turns to Charles.  "How?"

"I was shot.  Erik rather lost interest in retaliation after that."

Erik looks at him but says nothing.

Macmillan says, "Carry on with your story."

"There isn't much more to say."  Charles gives a brief outline of his time in hospital, the threat from the CIA, and Raven's revelation.  He leaves out the current location of the students.

"And so now you are here.  What is it you want from me?"

"Primarily, that you will call off Sir Kenneth's dogs.  Beyond that, legally recognise mutants as equal to or the same as humans, giving us the protection of the law.  Otherwise our status will be in legal doubt, given our lack of formal biological definition."

Erik is sometimes amazed at the way Charles chooses to phrase things.

"If we fail to keep the law, punish us the same as any other citizen.  Allow us to live peacefully and freely in this country, without looking over our shoulders all the time.  I appreciate you would want some idea of what we're doing, but we won't accept being treated as criminals.  If we're revealed, give us political support, nationally and internationally.  If you can't manage that, I'll settle for neutrality."

"So you simply want to live ordinary lives?"

"Not exactly."  Charles smiles.  "No, we have something important that we need to do."  He pauses.  

Erik wonders if he is working on the Prime Minister mentally.  He has a depressing suspicion that he isn't.

Charles says, "Mutants will be persecuted for being different.  That is human nature.  In addition, many of them will need help understanding and controlling their abilities, even if they then choose not to use them.  We would like to contact mutants from around the world, to tell them that they are not alone, nor are they strange or freakish.  Rather, they are the next stage of human evolution, and special, important, able to do great good for all the world."

Only Charles.  Only Charles could say that with such sincerity and not a trace of self-consciousness.

"We will offer them the opportunity to come wherever we're based - here, I hope - to learn about themselves and what they can be.  Then they will follow whatever path seems best to them.  If they don't want or need to learn, we can at least offer protection in case of violence or hatred directed against them by frightened humans.

"A sanctuary, a school, a research centre, that is what we wish to build.  I want to promote peace between mutants and humans, I believe it is possible.  That is my dream and I hope you will help me realise it."

Oh, Charles.  His idealism set out like that almost makes Erik retch.  No politician is going to help with an ivory-tower fantasy.  At least the coming disillusionment will set Charles safely on Erik's course.

"A noble dream, Professor.  Do you truly believe it possible?"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"But neither is perfect justice, a crime-free society or complete economic stability.  It doesn't mean they aren't worth aiming for."

Erik smiles to himself.  He must stop thinking of Charles as naive.

"We _can_ , though, build a school and research centre, and it _could_ be a sanctuary, for a little while, for those who need one.  And we _can_ build a network to help mutants, and their families and human allies, when they're in trouble."

"I see.  But if mutants are scattered all over the world, how will you find them?"

"I can identify mutants by their, uh, I suppose you could call it mutagenic energy."  

Erik approves his omitting to mention Cerebro.

"And where will this school be based?"

"We haven't finally decided.  Probably somewhere with a lot of space, Yorkshire, for example, Wales, Scotland, Cornwall.  Alternatively, I do have a family home near Oxford.  Not so much land, but it would give us easier access to the university facilities, and to research grants if I continue my fellowship.  And speaking of grants, a bit of government funding wouldn't go amiss, considering how good we'll be for the country."

"Really?  What form, exactly, will this good take?"

Erik wants to know that too.

"Since I don't know the full range of mutant abilities out there," says Charles, "I can't give you a complete answer yet.  But to take telepathy as an example, with a little imagination, the potential positive uses are manifold.

"Let's start with medical telepathy, which would probably be the major field.  A telepath could communicate for those who have lost the ability to speak.  They could relieve pain, even providing an alternative to anaesthesia.  They might even be able to enter the minds of coma patients, which I think would be a fascinating experience, anyway.  In the fields of neuroscience, psychiatry and psychotherapy, the possibilities are too numerous to go into.  I imagine every neuroscientist and therapist on the planet could suggest something different.  The main possibility I would like to point to is telepathic therapy for neuropsychological conditions."

"I see."

"There's more.  Legal telepathy."  He starts ticking off the fields on his fingers.  "To tell when someone is lying, to tell the police where a kidnapper has hidden their victim, get a clear statement of events from a witness, calm a fight or even a riot.  We could, theoretically, confirm guilt or innocence, though that's not something I would propose myself, telepaths are only human and suffer the same weaknesses as anybody else.  Evidence would still be essential.  Nevertheless, the potential can't be ignored."

"Professor -"

"I'll take questions once I've finished."  The professorial juggernaut continues while MacMillan looks amused and irritated.  "Let us consider educational telepathy.  How much easier to help someone learn if you can see their thought processes and understand the source of their confusion.  It also might be possible to transfer large amounts of knowledge mind to mind, without having to go through the time-consuming tedium of books or speech.

"Business telepathy.  Clearer communication between people with different languages, confirmation of honourable or hostile intent, warning of deceit or slippery dealings.

"Elsewhere, telepathy would, obviously, be of immeasurable use in search and rescue operations.  I suppose some telepaths might find their place in intelligence services or the military, though I personally wouldn't follow either path.  That's all I can think of offhand but I'm sure many more applications will appear over time."

"That's all, is it?"

"For now."  But it isn't.  "Beyond telepathy, Sir Kenneth already has some ideas about Raven's abilities.  Though she herself, I think, would prefer a career in the theatre.  Erik's abilities could be defensive, scientific, perhaps aggressive -"

Several raised eyebrows.

"- certainly aggressive, though likely not in your service, and I'm sure mining companies would fall over themselves to pay him to prospect for and extract metals.  Talking of mines - he could swiftly and safely clear a mine _field_.  As we have seen, missiles are a mere diversion to him and I'm certain he'd make short work of tanks.  I haven't had as much time to think about his abilities as my own, but again, I'm sure a host of ideas would crop up.  Will that much good do for a start?"

Erik takes it all in and marvels.  Such a range of possibilities had never occurred to him.  He is a weapon and tends to think of other mutants the same way.  That is why Charles is the right man to train new mutants.  Why Erik has to keep him close.

"Yes, that will do to be going on with."

"I am aware that some mutants won't choose to use their abilities well.  Shaw and his associates are proof of that.  Some will use them selfishly, some violently.  But that's true of any group.  Only a small percentage of the population are hardened criminals.  And when there comes a mutant who chooses to be one, won't it be helpful to have a research centre and some sympathetic mutants available to help the police?"

"I imagine it might."  He pauses.  "I noticed, earlier, that you switched between using 'I' and 'we'."

"As I said, the three of us don't agree on everything.  In any complex situation, there isn't one perfect path that suits everyone.  In the essentials, we agree, that we wish to help and protect other mutants.  That for everyone's sake, the best paths are peaceful.  Not the easiest, perhaps not even the most likely, but the best."

"I also notice that you seem a little unclear on whether you believe yourself human or not."

Charles sits back, puts his head on one side.  "To be honest, I don't really care.  Except where it affects my legal status.  I'm sure it will matter terribly to some people.  I'll let them worry about it."

"I see.  You spoke of other telepaths.  One would be this associate of Shaw's."

"Yes.  And I don't actually know any others.  I am assuming there will be more, though."

"Why that assumption?"

"It is very unlikely we are the only mutants in existence.  These abilities are inborn and our range of birth places and parentage would seem to preclude any unique and restricted cause of mutancy.  Others have been and/or will be born.  All that remains to be seen is whether the birth rate will grow, eventually leading to mutants being the majority or even sole ... genetic form, or whether we will remain a minority alongside, let us say, classic humans.  

"Either way, telepathy is the only ability we have found so far in more than one person.  It is also an ability that has a certain history in human narrative.  Whether in the past people have had any form of telepathic or, if I may safely use a debased word, psychic abilities is impossible to confirm, but the suggestion indicates that telepathy might not be such a stretch from the standard human template, a mere augmentation of what already exists.  Making it perhaps more likely to reproduce."

"Hm."

"I don't know for certain.  As I hope I've indicated, this is relatively new to us too."

"If I agree to all this, how do I know that it is my decision, not yours?"

"It's not that easy to make someone do something they don't want to, particularly since people tend to second-guess themselves a lot.  They talk themselves out of things, think of new reasons not to go ahead, or veer off into a different plan altogether.  In this case, you'd also have all sorts of people questioning your decision.  To force you to carry through a plan against your own judgement, with all those besieging internal and external doubts, I'd have to keep up the pressure almost constantly or damage you by forcing my will to override yours and disconnect the order from the rest of your cortex so you couldn't alter it.  That would probably affect your behaviour in other ways that would likely by noticed.  

"Besides, you're not an absolute ruler.  I'd have to do the same thing to most of parliament.  Setting aside the ethical arguments, it would be too hard and too likely to go wrong."

Macmillan nods.  "Did you make any attempt to stop Herr Lehnsherr destroying the ships?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because the men on board were just obeying orders, they didn't deserve to die for that.  Besides, you don't just kill people.  In a last resort, if you must, I suppose, yes, but not if not _necessary_."

Erik marvels at the gulf between them.  The insane idea that orders take away responsibility for your actions.  Nothing angers him as much.  The hand that does the deed is guilty.  You can refuse, you can _always_ refuse.  He struggles with control, angry with Charles as he was on the beach.  He tries to put it aside and pay attention.

"So you used your telepathy against him?"

Charles hesitates for the first time in the meeting.  "Erik was wearing Shaw's helmet.  I wasn't able to use my abilities against him."

"Otherwise you would have."

"With regret."

"Who shot you?"

Charles hesitates again.

"I did," says Erik.  "It was an accident.  Charles at first tackled me to try to stop me but he's not much of a fighter and I pushed him off.  So MacTaggert shot at me.  I deflected the bullets.  I wasn't careful where they went.  One hit Charles.  I withdrew it but it had already done damage to his spine."

"I see.  Tell me, Herr Lehnsherr, why try to destroy the ships?  You would have killed thousands of men."

"They would have killed us.  And if you try to convince me that _you_ would forbear from violence in the wake of a full-scale ballistic missile strike, we'll both know you're a liar."

"Why were you after Shaw in the first place?  Why did you choose to kill him?"

"I could tell you that it was the only way to stop him.  It is true.  But I killed him for revenge.  I had hunted him since I was seventeen.  I intended to kill him since I was twelve.  He killed my mother.  And my father, as one of hundreds of thousands."  Some part of Erik is surprised how calmly he can talk about it.  He gives a dispassionate account, his rage for some reason not triggered as long as he simply speaks facts, and doesn't examine the memories.  

"His name was once Karl Schmidt and he was a doctor at Auschwitz.  I was separated from my parents on our arrival and my power broke forth when I tried to stay with them.  Schmidt saw and thought he could use me for his own ends.  He killed my mother in an attempt to draw out my powers and when that worked, he decided rage and pain were the key factors so he tortured me.  He kept my father alive as a Sonderkommando in order to control me, but when he heard that the allies were coming, he fled the camp.  As he left, he ordered my father to be killed first of all.

"Killing him is not a choice I will ever regret.  And the hunt gave me a chance to kill other Nazis on the way."  He smiles. "So that was a lucky bonus."

Macmillan nods slowly.  "I see."  He pauses again.  "Would you tell me what matters you and Professor Xavier disagree on?"

"I am not human.  Mutants are a different species, and we will be the dominant species.  Humans are heading for extinction.  You will fear us, the fear will turn to hate, there _will_ be a war and we will win it.  The best path may be peace, but it's also a fantasy.

"Even if there are humans who are willing to live and let live, they will turn against us to protect themselves from the majority who hate us.  Charles talks of human allies.  There won't be any.  Not enough, at any rate, to make any difference.  You can mention Carl Lutz and Oskar Schindler.  Two names out of millions.  Not enough.  Not then, and not now.

"Charles believes that if we are useful, we will be accepted.  That we can achieve peaceful co-existence." He shakes his head.  "It doesn't matter how many lives we save, how much sanity he can restore.  Gratitude is not stronger than bigotry.  People turn on those who help them.  Most people will likely refuse mutant help in the first place, no matter what it offers.

"Beyond that, we don't exist to be of use to humanity.  We shouldn't have to be useful to be acceptable.  Will you try to force us to use our powers you?  What happens then to those who are not 'useful'?  What will happen when humans demand more of us than we _can_ give and blame us for not giving it?  One telepath cannot meet the demands of fifty million people.

"Humans are not capable of accepting each other.  You reject each other over skin, sex, sexuality, disability, history, even opinions.  At the same time you accept people who are merciless and rapacious, self-serving and ignorant.  Simply because they look and talk like you.  If you cannot accept yourselves, you will not accept us.  You will turn on us.  Humanity has great skill at the slaughter.

"I have seen what horrors humans - everyday humans who think themselves good - can inflict on others.  I will _not_ allow mutants to be destroyed.  I will do whatever it takes to protect them, even if I must destroy humanity."

There is silence then.  Harris looks shocked and grim; as if he has gained Charles' telepathy, Erik can see him starting to plan his defense and attack.  Macmillan seems to be analysing Erik.  Erik returns his gaze until the man nods.

"When the Professor spoke earlier of what 'we' intend to do, does that include you?  Your views seem to preclude close association."

"I won't help catch other mutants.  I won't deliver them up your justice.  Nor will I live according to your laws.  I have my own ethics.  Where the two match, there won't be a problem.  I have no interest in a crime spree. 

"The rest of our plans are not exclusive.  I want us to work together to help other mutants.  Charles said those mutants will choose whatever path seems best to them.  That will always, in part, be a choice on how to deal with humanity.  Charles' path, or mine.  I believe that in the end, they will choose mine.  Some of them will cling to false hopes for a while, but their treatment at the hands of humanity will convince them to fight."

"Hm.  Well, I appreciate your honesty.  Is there anything else you wish to say?"

"No."

"Miss Xavier," Macmillan turns to her.  "where do you stand in all this?"

Raven looks surprised and raises her chin again.  "I want to live openly.  I don't want to spend my whole life hiding who I am.  I live a lie.  My friends never see my face.  I am always aware of a barrier between me and everyone else.  When Charles and Erik first gathered other mutants, I still spent my time around them looking human.  Because that's how they all looked and I didn't know how to trust them to accept me, even though they were like me.  Just sitting in front of you like this is hard.  I don't need telepathy to read your expressions.

"I know it will be hard to live openly.  I still feel that I'd rather struggle every day for acceptance than live the way I do now."

Macmillan says what Erik is thinking.  "That is easy to say, but do you have any understanding of what people's reactions would be to you?"

"Yes."  And she then she tells them about a wretched childhood in a convent, and the two horrified reactions she had had to her appearance that day.  "So I do understand _exactly_ what I'd be letting myself in for."

"So why do it, if you don't have to?  Do you feel appearing human is such a lie?  Do you agree with Herr Lehnsherr about your species?"

"I am mutant and proud of it.  But saying that, that's a physical thing.  I ... I think I wouldn't care about wanting to live openly if ... I _felt_ different from the people around me.  I think it's because I have human friends and I _don't_ find myself very different from them, inside, that it matters to not live a lie, to feel this barrier between me and them.

She stares into space, perhaps trying to form the words around her feelings.

She says, "If I seemed to myself so different from the people around me, then it would matter more to me to be with other mutants.  I would be happy to hide.  But as it is ... .  I do want to help and support other mutants, especially those who can't hide, who don't have a choice but to live openly.  But my best friend is human and we get on because we like being together and can talk for hours about plays and poetry or men or gossip or just nothing at all.  And _what_ I am might cause problems with my best friend, but _who_ I am might cause problems with a mutant.  Just because we share a genetic shift, doesn't mean we're going to get on."

"That seems wise.  What do you want to do for the mutants who cannot hide?  Do you know any such?"

"I know one.  And I couldn't hide as a child.  There will be others.  I want to give them a safe haven, as Charles described.  The difference is that, well, I've been thinking and I think to reach the most mutants, we have to live openly."

"The Professor implied that wouldn't be necessary."

Raven turns to Charles.  "How many mutants are out there, would you say?"

"I can't be sure."

"Ballpark it, Charles."

"A couple of thousand."

The men raise their eyebrows.

"It's likely that most of them are far less powerful than us."

Raven says, "We would have to travel to each one and persuade them.  How long did it take you guys to collect four?  It's not like they'll all be living close to airports, or in cities.  And all the time, more are being born.  And you've still got to train and do research."

"The more mutants we find, the more can be sent out to find others."

"The numbers only add up if mutant birth figures stay low.  If they keep growing, we might never catch up.  And if they are born obviously strange, can we be sure of getting to them on time?

"If we reveal ourselves to the world, mutants will come to us.  If someone doesn't want their baby, it might at least be brought to us, rather than being dumped in a convent or, god forbid, killed.  Plus, like I said, we can never gain acceptance if people don't know we exist."

"And the other questions, obedience to the law, the ability to coexist peacefully?"

"I'm happy to obey the law, as long as it's not out to get me.  I think peaceful co-existence will take a long time.  It'll never fully happen, there'll always be pockets on both sides that want to keep up the hate.  Maybe if I can make friends again with Diane, I'll have more hope.  And Heidi seems happy enough now, but I don't know how that will hold up long term, especially when things get tough.  I don't know how strangers will react to me."

She shrugs.  "I'd like for it to be possible.  I think it's worth striving for.  But I'll also do what I must to keep mutant children safe.  Just, maybe Erik and I have a different definition of 'must'.  Of when necessity comes in and what it requires.  I ... I wouldn't like to think of myself as a killer.  I'd like for there to be a better way."

Macmillan nods.  He is silent for a while, eyeing each of them then gazing above their heads for a while.  He drops his eyes to Charles.

"Are you reading my thoughts now?"

"I would be a fool not to."

"Could I stop you?"

Charles nods slowly.  "You could learn to, yes.  To a certain extent.  I know it is possible.  My mother and Erik both have some skill at keeping me out," that's news to Erik, "and in Ma's case, at least, it's a learnt skill, not inborn.  But there are limits.  If I were to use sufficient force, you couldn't keep me out, but I would do damage to you in the process.  It's not something I would do.  But if it worries you that much, you could have a helmet of your own made and kept on hand for meetings with telepaths, or in case you become aware of a telepathic attack."

Erik is appalled.  The man might have thought of it himself but to freely suggest it?  He despairs again of Charles' survival instincts, and is deeply worried that this blithe trust will threaten all of them.

MacMillan grunts and nods again.  He looks at his spymaster.  "Any questions, Harris?"

"No, sir."

Macmillan turns back to them.  "Miss Xavier, gentlemen.  This has been an incredible and fascinating encounter.  I will need to think about your proposals and positions, and there are quite a few other people whose opinions I must seek.  I suggest you come back here tomorrow morning at nine o'clock.  I will give you my preliminary decision then."

Charles says, "Thank you for your time, sir."

"There'll be two agents watching you.  You understand.  They shouldn't be too obtrusive.  Good night."  He turns to Harris.

Raven takes her blonde form again and they start to leave, Erik flashing a bright smile at the agents as they pass.  Just before they open the door, Macmillan says, "Herr Lehnsherr."

Erik turns back, cocks his head.

"It occurs to me, at Auschwitz, were you the one they called 'Malach ha-Mavet'?"

Erik gives a little smile.  He spreads his hands, bows slightly and walks out.

In the anteroom, Michaels and Weir stand up.  The secretary receives intructions on the intercom to send Professor Weir in and she gestures to him.

As he passes, Charles says, "Thank you, Professor Weir.  I'm sorry for being less than honest with you, but you would never have helped us if you'd known."

Weir gives him a long look.  Erik looks at Weir, memorising his face.  Weir shakes his head and goes into the meeting room.

"All OK?" asks Michaels.

"You mean aside from just revealing our abilities to the ruler of the country and his head of intelligence and allowing them to invite us into a trap tomorrow morning?" asks Erik.

"It went well," says Raven.

"No deaths, no injuries, no gunshots," says Charles.  "I think we're ahead."

"Let's stay ahead," says Erik.  "The Ritz?"

"My club is closer, just on Pall Mall.  They should be able to put us up."

"What are the chances that members of MI5 are also members of your club?"

"Low."

Erik smiles at the two wary men standing a few steps away, causing one of them to twitch his hand towards his jacket.  He drops it quickly and swallows.

Erik looks back at Charles.  "Perfect."


	21. Wherein Gus and Raven have dinner

**Raven**

She's been to the club a couple of times before with Charles.  It's a very grand place - the Victorians believed size matters, and they never saw a surface they didn't want to ornament.

They arrive and, of course, there are steps up to the front door.  She can read Charles' irritation in the set of his shoulders.  His face is neutral, though.  "There's a side entrance, I believe," he says.

Erik grunts and pretends an impressive display of strength by lifting Charles and the wheelchair in his arms.  He puts him down on the top step then looks down at him, head on one side.

"Thank you," says Charles.  "And no, I don't mind."

Erik nods and gestures for Charles to go ahead.

Raven wonders why Charles would mind help but maybe Erik thinks there's a danger he might feel emasculated.  In which case, he doesn't know Charles as well as he thinks he does.  Even so, he's always so sweet to Charles.  No, not sweet.  Caring?  Considerate?  She just wishes it wasn't only Charles he could be that way with.

The porter is shocked by Charles' new state but, being that he's an old-fashioned kind of servant, she can only tell this by the slight lifting of his head and a tightening of brows.

Charles calmly requests four rooms as though he weren't a couple of feet below where he used to be.  "And I would appreciate it if I could have supper in my room.  It's been a long day."  He looks at the rest of them.

Erik nods in agreement.  Raven says, "Actually, I think I'd like to take a long walk, so I'll probably get supper out somewhere."

Erik narrows his eyes at her.  "I think it would be better if we stick together this time.  Considering what happened last time you were on your own."

She draws herself up, takes a breath and Charles steps in.  "Maybe you could take Dr Michaels out with you to show him some of London.  Then you won't be out late alone."

It is, of course, said for the porter.  But it isn't as though they can argue with it, or each other, in front of the man.

"Oh, well..." says Gus.

"Dr Michaels," says Erik, "is new to London.  And he's not the most intimidating of men.  He's not much of a deterrent."

"Well, that's..."

Raven knows what he's really saying but she is stung on Gus's behalf.  "Gus," she says, "is as much of a man as anyone."  Erik's slight smile irritates her more.   "We shall be quite safe, thank you, Mr Lehnsherr."  She turns to the porter, who is studying the visitor's book with well-feigned fascination.  "Please reserve two rooms for us and inform the night porter we'll be returning late."

"Yes, miss.  Pleasant evening, miss."

"Um.  Won't ..."

She turns back to Charles and Erik, who are exchanging a look, like Charles is remonstrating with Erik who doesn't give a damn, but she doesn't think they're using telepathy.  They just have their own language.  She grabs Gus's arm without speaking to them and pulls him to the door.  

"Uh," says Gus, looking back at Charles, "won't you need...?"

"I'll be fine, thank you, doctor," says Charles.  "Erik is here if I have any trouble."

Raven tows him out the door and down the steps, then takes a moment to look around.  She lived in London for five years, aged fourteen to nineteen, and it was a wonderful, frustrating time.  She was rarely allowed to be alone here, almost always her Mom or Charles accompanied her, a couple of times Carl and one awful time, Cain.  Now she's the one showing someone around.

As they walk along Pall Mall, heading for Piccadilly, Charles gives a knock at her mind.

 _What?_ she thinks.

 _You're not going to visit Ma, are you?  Steady on, there's no need for that sort of language.  I was just asking._

 _I will think what I want in my own head and I will not be treated like a teenager._

Charles waits.

 _No, I am not going to visit Mom!  I am going to eat and spend a pleasant evening with someone who doesn't treat me like a child._

There is a wince from Charles.  Raven feels that is a fitting moment to shove him away, and he lets her.

They walk briskly, because Raven's mad and because it's getting chilly.  Gus keeps dropping a little behind to look at things.  After the third time, Raven makes an effort to huff out her anger and enjoy his interest.

She leads them up to Covent Garden, because she loves it.  There are a lot of theatres in the area and the Royal Opera House is at one end of Covent Garden, the Actors' church at the other.  They enjoy some street performers then find a little restaurant off on a side road, tucked between a hat shop and a stationers.  They are seated at a table with a candle and order the chicken and the lamb.

Raven doesn't know what to say.  She's so rarely with strangers, without Charles or her Mom or a friend to talk to.

"So," says Gus, "did you ever live in London?"

She feels relieved.  Gus meets new people every day in his job.  Anyway, it's Gus.  It's not like she has to try to impress him.

"I was a teenager when we came here.  Charles had gone up to Oxford and Mom bought me here to live with her and Carl."

"That's the Professor's father?"

"Stepfather, Carl Marko."

"Right, he mentioned his stepbrother last night."

"Cain.  But neither of them were around much.  Carl travelled a lot on business and Cain was ... anywhere he could get into trouble."

"So it was just you and your Mom?"

"Yep.  Just us."  And it had been good.  She stares into her wine.  Just ... she knows Mom was just looking out for them, but even in London, the home schooling had continued.  It had gotten a little claustrophobic eventually.  Despite the world travel.  And although, after she had been presented and had her debut, she had accompanied Mom to lots of parties, they had been adult parties and she hadn't been allowed to spend time with people her own age.  

She had always pounced on letters from Charles and rejoiced in his visits.  And he'd known that.  He had always come home in the holidays, though he could have stayed up or gone on holiday with his new friends.  He had known, then, how important he was to her, when it was just the two of them who understood.

"What do you like best about London? If you had one chance to do something, before never coming back, what would it be?  Something we can arrange in, ooh, six hours?  Not that it won't work out."  He drops his voice.  "With the Prime Minister, I mean.  It's just, in case, you know?"

She smiles.  "Nothing we can arrange in six hours.  The theatre.  There's dozens of theatres all through London.  Some are just small rooms above pubs.  A lot of the big ones are really ornate, pink and blue with golden curlicues and cherubs and whatnot."

"What kind of plays do you like best?"

"Oh, pretty much anything.  Drama, comedy, musical, even experimental.  As long as no-one screams in my face or tries to drag me up on stage."

Gus makes a face.

"I like Marlowe and Lorca, Regency comedies and Brecht, and Gilbert and Sullivan, and Greek Tragedy.  I like Synge and Shaw and Wilde, Rattigan, Priestley, Ibsen, Fry, Anouilh.  You don't really know what I'm talking about, do you?"

"No, but I can tell it makes you happy.  You look ... gladdened."

She smiles, a bit embarrased, a bit pleased.  She says, "I love Shakespeare, of course, but who doesn't love Shakespeare?"

Gus timidly raises his hand.

Raven is shocked.  "No!  Gus Michaels, you take that back right now."

"Well, I just never know what he's going on about -"

"What?!"

"- and all those hidden themes and imagery and meters.  It's just too much."

"Stop.  Are you talking about watching Shakespeare, or studying Shakespeare?"

"Studying.  We had to do him in school.  I think I'd dread having to sit through an actual performance."

"Next time we're in a mile of a performance, we're seeing it.  As long as it's not amateur, of course."

"Oh, of course.  Uh, you sure you wouldn't rather take ... ?"

"No.  It's you and me."  She smiles then shrugs.  "The others can tag along if they want."

He smiles back.  "Yes, ma'am.  Whatever you say."

Raven is delighted.  It's a vague plan, but finally it's one she's looking forward to.

\---------------

She finishes her chicken and sets her knife and fork to one side.  She rests her chin on her fist and considers Gus.  She doesn't want to ask Charles.  She has a feeling he would protect Erik.  She supposes she could do research but ... dull.  So she asks, "Have you ever heard the name 'Maleck Humvet'?"

"Nope."

"It's something to do with Auschwitz.  The survivors called someone 'Ma.." she closes her eyes, "Malach ha-Mavet'."  She looks at him.

"Hm.  No-o, I don't ... Oh."  He raises his eyebrows, nods.  "Yeah, maybe.  Yeah, I _think_ that was it, yeah.  It's a creepy story.  When Auschwitz was liberated, the stories were harrowing, the truth of what went on there.  But there was this one story and I remember hearing and just getting the shivers, you know?  Even though I was eighteen.  'Cause it's one thing to hear that kind of story set two hundred years ago, it's another when it's right now.  But I was fascinated by it, though.  I think because it was eaiser to hear a ghost story than another wretched, real-life horror story."

"How'd it go?"

"Sure you want to hear it? It's hair-raising."

"Yeah, I figure I can take it."

"OK.  Well, first of all, about a day before the Allies came to liberate the camp, the Jews managed to get the upperhand and killed all the Germans.  But when the Allies got there and asked how they did it, they wouldn't say.  They just said," he leaned forward, wide-eyed, and dropped his voice to register appropriate for ghost stories, "'It was Malach ha-Mavet, the Angel of Death.' "

He takes a sip of beer while Angel spins her finger.  "Yeah, and?"

"Most of them wouldn't talk about it but a few told this story.  That the previous morning the news came that the Allies were approaching and the Kommandant and a few of the others left in a great hurry.  One of them was a doctor."  He grimaces and returns to his normal voice for a moment.  "Or he called himself a doctor but he wasn't, no _real_ doctor could have worked in a place like that.  Anyway, before he left, the Kommandant gave the order that," his voice catches, he looks down and says more quietly, "... that those left should kill as many as they could before the Allies arrived.  Which is probably true."  He looks up again.  "But according to the story, the doctor ordered that one man should be killed first of all.  And then they high-tailed it out of there.

"Now there was a story told about this doctor by the guards, who were afraid of him themselves.  They whispered that he made a deal with the devil for eternal youth, but he had to feed on souls to get it.  They said that was why he had come to the worst of the camps, he no longer cared about life, only death.

"So, anyway, the guards got on with their orders, killed the first man and started on the others.  But shortly afterwards came shouts from another part of the camp, gunshots, death cries, and screams of fear."

Raven feels herself tense up and forces herself to relax.  She has a hunch she knows just where this is going.

"Some guards ran to help but still the sounds continued, more screams now, and then the guards reappeared, some running for their lives, some looking for a place to defend.  It didn't do them any good.  Round the corner came the Angel of Death.  

"He had taken the form of a ragged, wounded, Jewish boy, though they only caught glimpses of him, slipping among the huts and the trucks.  Knives flashed from his hands and back to him, covered with blood.  Barbed wire unravelled from fences and strangled the guards from behind.  Guns turned on their bearers and emptied themselves into their bodies, and some men died just clutching their heads and screaming.

"No bullet could touch him and no-one could rush him.  Anyone who tried to approach from behind, he slaughtered without even looking.  When the guards were all dead, he ripped the doors off the huts and the captives cowered and prayed, terrified he would turn on them.  But he ripped the doors off the gas chambers and found the bodies of the dead.

"And when he saw the body of the first man, he threw his head back and screamed.  The camp itself seemed to shake and twist, wreckage flew through the air. Then he turned on them and they shrank back.  He howled at them in Hebrew, 'Where is Schmidt?'  They pointed to the road the doctor had taken and he sped like the wind through the gate and was gone.

"The Allies searched for Schmidt but the Jews weren't bothered.  'The Angel of Death is after him.  Vengeance will come from God.'  But some said the Angel was Gabriel, sent to take vengeance for the suffering of the Jews, and some said it was Sammael, the Devil, come to take payment for a bargain betrayed.  And they never did find Schmidt.  The Allied soldiers said it wasn't human justice he was afraid of but he was running from Death himself."

Gus finishes and looks pleased with himself.

Raven shakes herself and notices her arms are wrapped around her body.  "That's ... terrible."

He shrugs.  "It's just a story.  Unfortunately, it probably distracted from the really terrible things that happened."

"It's not just a story."

"Of course it is.  The Angel of Death was a metaphor for their uprising, for the spur, the," he circles his hand, "divine inspiration that allowed them to defeat their enemies.  And maybe a sort of ... protective narrative.  Violent killing is a horrible act, even if you know you're justified in it.  Even if you're protecting yourself, it can be traumatic."

"I'm sure it was traumatic.  But it wasn't a metaphor.  It was Erik."

She watches the expressions cross his face, shock and understanding, sorrowful compassion and perhaps a little fear.  Gus is an open book.  He rubs his hands across his face, clasps them in front of his mouth, leaning on his elbows, she wonders if he's praying.  He looks up at her, spreads his hands, drops them.

"That poor ... .  He ... .  I don't ..." he shakes his head.  

"What do you do for someone who's been through all that?"

"I don't know.  I guess you just give them all the love and kindness you can, and have the courage to hold on through the hurt.  Don't pretend to understand.  Call them on their bullshit.  In the end, you're just playing a supporting role.  The hardest part he's gotta do for himself.  I guess you could pray for him, if you're that way inclined."

"Do you believe in God?"

"I believe in miracles, seen a couple of them at the hospital.  I believe in doing the best you can for people, regardless of what they do to you.  I believe in not judging people, but just putting aside the people who are toxic.  I believe redemption is possible, though it's pretty much the hardest road.  It takes a lot of courage and hope to travel it, and a lot of people have to do it alone.  That's pretty much it.  I'd like God to exist but I don't think He gets involved too much."

"I never really got on with Him.  I thought He existed, 'cause the nuns all said so, I just didn't like Him very much.  I used to make faces at Him through the ceiling."

Gus chuckles.  "I bet you could make some excellent faces."

"In time.  I stopped believing in the end.  Charles didn't and Mom went to church because she liked the hats, and shaking hands with the vicar.  She was the Lady of the Manor and going to church every Sunday was just part of that.  She never made us go, though.  And she never went in London.  It was kind of a relief to think He didn't exist, until I realised that made all the bad things our fault, not His.  I think that's when I got a little cynical about humanity."

"Fair enough."

"Do you think people are basically good?"

"I've seen good and the bad, sometimes in the same person.  I think they're about in balance.  You just do the best you can to act well."  He takes a swig of wine.  "Do you want dessert?"

"Gus, I always want dessert."

He gives her a happy smile.  "My kinda lady."

\---------------

They walk through theatreland and reach the Thames by Waterloo Bridge.  The night is cold and there is a hazy moon in the deep indigo sky.  Raven points out the river landmarks for him, then they walk beside the water, under the globe streetlights.

"Can we go see London Bridge?  I like the towers on it."

"You're thinking of Tower Bridge, not London Bridge."

"Oh.  That's appropriate."

She smiles.  "It's next to the Tower of London.  Which isn't actually a tower, it's a castle."

"Is this the famous British sense of humour?"

She laughs.

"Where's London Bridge?  Birmingham?"

She gives him a playful nudge.  "No, but it's probably kinda far to walk tonight.  Are you cold, by the way?"

"Oh no.  No.  Well.  A little."  He looks at her.  "Are _you_ cold?  Now the sun's set, those tweeds aren't much."

"I'm fine.  My skin's a little different.  I don't feel the cold so much.  I wouldn't want to walk through snow like this, but this is OK."

"Wow.  You're so amazing.  I mean your abilities.  Not that you're not, because you are, of course you are, more amazing than your abilities, actually.  Um."

Gus is lovely.  Erik never babbles and Charles is even smooth enough to make his chat-up line work.  "Can I help you out of your hole there, doctor?  Toss me the shovel and I'll pull."

He grins.

"You really think that, don't you?"

"That I'm in a hole?"

"That I'm ... that we're amazing."

"I think you're wonderful."  He looks down and pushes his glasses up with a finger.  "I get that it might not be so much fun to live with it, or ... rather to live with people's attitudes to it.  To being different, I mean.  I just ... .  Yeah.  I think you're wonderful."

"Would you want to be like us?"

"Can I?"

"Well, no.  I don't think so.  We're born this way.  Just in fantasy.  Would you?"

"Yeah.  Though I'd have a hard time deciding what to be.  Flight sounds peachy, except I bet it's rather chilly up there.  I don't much mind about being strong and I probably would rather not be furry.  Maybe like you?  It would be great to be able to turn into a lion or a horse.  Or an eagle!   Yeah.  Then the cold wouldn't matter."

"You wouldn't want to turn into someone else?"

"Um.  No.  No, I guess I'm happy with who I am.  Like you.  Which I guess is your problem."

"Pretty much."

"In the end, I suppose I'd want anything that would make me a better doctor.  Um.  Speaking of which, I would like to check on the Professor, just to be sure."

"Sure."

"Not that I'm not enjoying ..."

She smiles at him.  "It's fine.  I want to make sure he's OK, too.  I'm sure he'll still be awake, they'll probably play chess all night."

"I'd prefer he wasn't.  I'd be happier if he'd just pass out for the next ten hours."

"OK.  I've got some chloroform somewhere."

He laughs.

"Or Erik might have palmed some more sleeping pills."

"Really?"  Gus looks a bit worried.

"I'm just joking.  It's ... well, there was this CIA agent."  They walk and she tells him about Erik's tricks and wiles.

They're nearing the Houses of Parliament.  She points across the river.  "Guy's and St Thomas's hospital.  I think the Florence Nightingale Museum is over there too."

"Do you think that would be a place to go to find some specialists for the Professor?"

"I think old Florence doesn't have the vigor to help much anymore."

He chuckles.

"I don't know.  But if they don't do it themselves, they'll know who does."

"Maybe I can drop in tomorrow morning."

Something occurs to Raven.  "You know you can call him Charles, don't you?"

"No.  No, not while there's a professional side to our relationship.  I think it's better in these circumstances to keep things formal.  More comfortable that way.  Maybe when he doesn't need me anymore."

"I see.  Do you ... do you think that will be soon?"  A no-win question.  If the answer's yes, then Gus leaves, having his choice and his memories taken from him.  If the answer's no, then Charles is worse than she hopes.

Gus sighs.  "It'll be a couple of months after he starts his physical and occupational therapies.  I can teach him a bit but he needs ..."

"A professional.  Yes, I remember.  Erik does understand that.  He's not trying to stop Charles recovering, -"

"I know."

" - it's not like he's trying to keep him dependent," she says, as the horrible possibility slithers into her head.  She shakes her head.  He wouldn't.  "Erik would never hurt Charles."  She remembers why Charles is in a chair.  "Not deliberately."  She remembers Erik about to leave Charles on the beach and that she was going to go with him.  With determination, she says, "We're going to be there for him when he needs us."

"Um.  Mm."

"What?"

"Well.  I know _you_ will.  I just ..."

"Erik will too."

"Eh.  I think he wants to be.  But he wants to protect mutants more.  His way.  And if he the Professor can't agree on that, I reckon he'll leave."

Raven wants to deny it, tries to make herself do so but she can't.  "He's suffered a lot."

"I know.  I'm not saying it's wrong.  I understand.  When a man is committed to a great work, he'll often put personal concerns aside.  I don't think we appreciate enough how much women do in maintaining relationships, friendships and family.  They're mostly the ones who hold it together.  But it's just the way we are.  A man gets a bee in his bonnet and it can last him his whole life.  If he's really lucky, he meets someone who can accept that and has their own interests.  Or their interests coincide.  Like the Curies."

"Hm."  Raven wanders along, watching the pavement, thinking about this.  "Erik and Charles are both kinda like that."

"Mm-hm."

"And Erik has been through a lot."

"Hell, yeah."

"And you're right, he would put aside his own wants for the good of us all."

"Except he's defining that good _by_ his wants."

"He probably doesn't even know how to form friendships, relationships."

"He seems to have got the hang of it with the Professor."

"He may even be afraid to love, afraid of losing the people close to him."  She feels a scary thrill starting to grow inside.

"Um.  No idea.  I'm not a shrink.  Uh, Raven?"

Warmth spreads through her.  "He needs someone to accept him, to be there for _him_.  To help him form a relationship and hold it together."

"I'm not sure that ..."

"I shouldn't have given him up so easily.  I was hurt, I turned away from him but it wasn't his fault."

"Given him up?  Wait.  You and Lehnsherr?  You two ... you ... "

She blushes.  "We had a ... we ... slept together."  Wow, saying that to someone feels very brazen.  Until her embarrasment at the follow-up kicks in.  "Then he said he didn't want to continue.  I shouldn't have got angry with him.  Okay, I should.  But I shouldn't have given up on him.  Like you said,- "

"I wouldn't listen to me, if I were you."

"- it takes a lot of love and courage and kindness to help a person through what he's suffered."  She takes a breath, feeling light, cheerful again.  "I'm going to stick with him."

"I'm an idiot, it's well known."

"I'm going to give him what he needs, let him come to me in his own time.  We'll make it work."

"Oh boy.  Raven."  He takes her hands and pulls her round to face him.  The street light is reflecting off his glasses and he pulls them off to meet her eyes.  A little unfocused.  "Listen.  Lehnsherr says what he means.  If he said he's not interested, he's not interested.  Don't do this.  You're setting yourself up for pain."  He gives a half-smile.  "As your doctor, I strongly advise against it."  The smile gentles though there is a sad twist there.  "And as your friend."

"Gus, I have to do this.  He needs me."

"He _may_ need someone, but how do you know it's you?"

"Because it's perfect.  We're both mutants ..."

"Why does that matter?"

"It's not like a can date a human, is it?  Hi, I'm blue and," she puts on a sexy voice, "I can be anything you want.  I wouldn't want to date someone who sees me just as fantasy fulfillment."

Gus looks distressed.  "It wouldn't have to be like ..."

"And that's if he doesn't just scream himself hoarse when he sees me."

Gus whispers, " _I_ didn't."

She takes his hand.  "You're special."

He stares a moment then gives a high-pitched laugh.

Raven doesn't understand but she sticks to her point.  "It's not going to happen.  It's got to be a mutant.  Hank wasn't interested and the others are too young.  And Erik finds me attractive, he just ... has his great work."

Gus drops his head and whispers.

"What?"

He raises his head and looks up at the trees and the roofs.  "Nothing.  Why not wait for someone else, there are other mutants out there, right?"

"I know Erik hasn't made it easy for you to like him, but he's really a good man."

Gus rubs his face.  "Leaving aside a debate on the definition of goodness, yeah, probably he is.  At the moment.  I just don't want to see you get hurt.  I think you will if you do this."

She shrugs.  "It's worth the risk."

Gus sighs.  "I'll be here for you, if you ever need me."

"Thanks, Gus.  You're a good friend."  She takes his arm and they start walking again.  "Also, Erik is Charles' best friend and I'm Charles sister.  So, it's perfect.  We fit."

"Say, what's that place?  Pretty fancy."

She's surprised by the sudden change of conversation but accepts it.  "That's the Cabinet Office."

"Love these old buildings."


	22. Wherein they get their answer

**Charles**

He's felt this way before, on the verge of a breakthrough in his research when he hasn't slept much for a days, too obsessed with solving the puzzle.  His body is bone weary and he is feverish with thoughts.

He feels bad about doubting Raven.  She didn't just do it to be contrary.  He's mostly sure she felt driven to tell her friends.  He's just worried she'll feel driven to talk to Ma too and he can't face that conversation right now.  He'll tell her everything himself, when he's ready.

He is thankful the club has a lift installed and doubly so that they reach their rooms without meeting any club member he knows.  More conversations he can't face.  Just now, he wants nothing but to eat and sleep.  Does he want a conversation on why Erik came after all?  No.  Not just now.  He'll just be glad.

In the room, he wheels over to the window and looks out at the night.  A waiter comes in and gives him a menu.  He orders without bothering much.  This will be one of those nights when he forces himself to eat, acting on reason rather than hunger.

Erik comes in as the waiter is leaving, takes the menu, orders and lets the man pass.  Charles sees him reflected in the window, standing in the middle of the room, their eyes meeting in the glass.  Charles runs his wheels back and forth, twitching the chair around, unable to pace.  He looks over his shoulder.  "How are the others?"

"Fine."

"Good.  Good."  He taps his fingers on the wheelchair.  "I'm sure Raven won't get into trouble.  She's not going to take her true form in public.  She's not crazy."

"I know."  Erik regards him for a moment.  Charles turns to face him, unsure what he wants to say, if there even is anything left to say.  Erik says, "They must have a chess set here.  It might help you relax."

"I don't think I could concentrate.  And I ought to sleep after eating.  It's been a more tiring day than I imagined."

All the words are lying between them, all the arguments, desperate attempts to convince each other.  There aren't any new ones, just now, they can only cover the same ground over and over.  Charles can't think of anything else, though.  

"You said," says Erik, "that I have some resistance to telepathy."

That'll do.  "Yes.  I've never pushed, but there's very little I pick up passively and you're not always clear to simple active telepathy.  I don't know if it is because of your control or magnetism, perhaps both."

"Why would magnetism matter?"

"The brain works on electric currents."

Erik nods slowly.  "And magnetism is bound up with electricity."

"Can you manipulate electricity?"

"It's harder.  Ferromagnetic metals are ... willing.  Electricity needs to be coaxed."

"Like dogs and cats."  Charles is feeling a bit light-headed.  "Nevertheless, I imagine if you practised, you might create a magnetic shield to block me somewhat.  Not completely, but sufficiently.  Which would allow you to work without the sensory reduction caused by the helmet."

Erik smiles at him in despair.  "Charles.  You really must stop telling people how to defeat you."

Charles' own smile is just sad.  "I rather hope it won't come to that."

"So do I, my friend."

Charles is somewhat warmed at hearing his own term returned.  He nods.

Their food arrives and they eat it at opposite sides of the writing table.  Erik waves a fork.  "So, are you always looking into minds?"

Charles shakes his head.  "I have passive and active telepathy.  Passive telepathy is like walking along a street past houses with the curtains open.  I know they're there.  Something startling or unusual might catch my attention but I don't go gawping into every window.  Forceful or intense emotions and thoughts are hard to miss, hard to block.  I can always recognise a lie, I think because of the different parts of the brain that engage for invention versus memory.  Mostly I see the ... the general ... gestalt of the mind.  An overall..." he waves his knife, "...image, except not an image ..."

Erik understands.  "How do you explain colour to a blind man?  How could I explain my perception of magnetism?  It doesn't match any other sense."  Charles nods.  "I could explain what magnetic fields look like but there is something deeper that I know as deeply as I know myself.  It simply is."

"I understand."  He remembers that he must eat, makes himself have another mouthful.  "You said you can explain what they look like.  You can see magnetism?"

"If I choose to.  Mostly it's just a slight glow but I can ... focus, I suppose, and then I can see more.  I can see direction of flow, strength of field, interaction between fields.  A simple field is like a mane of light."

"A mane?"

"Yes.  Like hair, many strands, all running together."

"Oh."  Charles likes that.  He laughs.

"What?"

"Just imagining the poetry of the mutant era.  'Your hair like a magnetic stream, attracting my fingers to float in its flow'."

Erik is amused and appalled.  "Good thing you're a professor of genetics, not poetry."

Charles smiles and shrugs.  "Well, it's rather like that with telepathy too.  Magnetic sight, I mean, not poetry.  There is the passive telepathy which is always there.  Then there is active telepathy when I choose to, as you say, focus.  I gain clarity and I can read thoughts, memories, intent, sensory input."

"And manipulate them."

"Yes.  Though I wouldn't want you to think I do that a lot.  Today has been exceptional."

"I don't mind."

Charles looks severely at him.  "I know.  That's why I don't want you think I'm blasé about it.  People aren't puppets.  I won't use them as such, unless we're threatened."

"Or unless they stop you doing something you want.  Agent Lowe?"

"He wanted to go after Shaw, he just thought he shouldn't."

"Or if you think it's for their own good, like Michaels."

Charles kneads the stiffness in his shoulder.  "Perhaps I shouldn't do that, then.  Perhaps I should leave it up to his choice."

Erik stares at him for a few beats.  "He has to go back, Charles."

"It would be very useful to have a doctor on staff."

"Charles."

"We can easily force him to go back.  We should just leave him his memories, if he wants them.  Let him choose whether to accept the consequences.  He gave up everything to come with us.  Treating him like a pet, like a puppet, is a poor return."  He digs his fingers into his deltoid.

Erik leans forward and accuses Charles.  "You _like_ him."

Charles smiles.  "Erik, you're the only one who doesn't."  He switches to the other shoulder.  "And his predictions about my shoulders are coming true."

"You're in pain?"

"Just stiff now, but I think it's going to get worse.  And I suspect a hot bath is going to be a lot more complicated than it used to be."

"I'll help you.  Afterwards I can rub your shoulders.  It will relax you, help you sleep."

"Yes."  Charles feels embarrased and warm and slightly uncertain.  "Thank you."  Charles wonders how to approach the question, whether there's any need to.  Erik is simply offering a kindness.  It's just that it will inevitably involve Charles being naked in his presence and the last time that happened...

The simple fact is, Charles isn't feeling very sexual at the moment.  Hasn't since he was shot.  His body has enough to be going on with without wondering how the hell sex might work, _if_ it still works, _if_ he felt any desire, which he doesn't.  If Erik were even interested.  The idea of a hot bath and a back rub is idyllic, though.

He pulls himself together.  "I think that would be very helpful and very restful.  Thank you."

\---------------

The next morning, Charles is very well rested, not aching and in bright spirits.  Raven is also in a good mood and seems to have forgiven them both for their suspicions of her last night.  Michaels is a trifle dispirited though he presents his usual warm and positive outlook.  Erik is sharp, watchful, his power poised for release.  He is also annoyed by tupperware.

Charles takes his hat off to the speed with which security has adapted.  The four of them are required to remove all metal from their persons.  It is placed in tupperware, the sort you need the fingers of a gorilla to open.  The agents enforcing this restriction are not holding their weapons in their hands but their hands are very near the various grips and handles.  These weapons are police truncheons and weighted ropes and, he can barely believe it, blowpipes. 

Erik gives Charles a look.  _This is what happens when you reveal your arsenal, give them fair warning and time to prepare._

 _I assume you still have metal hidden around your person._

 _Of course.  That's not the point._

They have arrived shortly before nine and are led straight into the meeting.  Harris is present again and the Prime Minister is in an excellent mood.  Charles hopes that bodes well for them, rather than being a sign of pleasure that they have walked into a trap.

"Gentlemen, Miss Xavier.  I have spoken to President Kennedy.  We've managed to clear all this up.  Obviously, a respectable English gentlemen, such as yourself, cannot be the dangerous terrorist they are searching for.  And you wouldn't keep company with such people.  So, I told him, it must be a case of mistaken identity.  He's going to look for another Charles Xavier."

Charles beams at him.  "I am very grateful to you, Prime Minister, for taking the time to intercede on our behalf."  He can feel surprise, confusion and suspicion from Erik.  Charles firmly pushes down his smugness.  It wouldn't do for _any_ of them to sense that.

"Not at all," says MacMillan.  "Of course, I can't say where he will look.  He'll get no help from us but the Americans are very resourceful."

Charles nods but he's still happy.  They'll have to be vigilant but MacMillan is being sincere, there's no duplicity or misdirection.  If the CIA or KGB want to come after them, they won't have the support of the national government to do it.

The Prime Minister continues.  "I spoke to several people in the night.  Professors Morey and Anderssen, you've heard of them, I assume, eminent geneticists.  They both deny the possibility of single generation extreme mutation.  But scientists have been wrong before.  I think some further study on the matter should be carried out.  Your facilities at Oxford are up to the task?"

"They are."

"Good.  I think it would be wise for you to work with someone on the matter, just to get a balanced perspective.  I'll make sure funding is in place.  It will all be done under the Official Secrets Act.  It's not wise, when confronting the public with a new and strange situation, to tell them that there's a lot you don't know.  It worries them.  Leaves space for worst case scenarios.  Doomsayers.  You'll need to be able to answer most questions.

"Now, as to your location.  Redbearn Manor is near Brize Norton air base.  The US Air Force is moving on from there and we're thinking of making it a transport hub.  It will be useful for you to get to know the RAF commanders there, once they're installed.  See what you can work out between you."

He sits back.  "You need to give me something, you see.  We need to build up a record of useful service to present to the nation.  Something to set against fear of the unknown, the different."

Erik is still confused and suspicious.  He is growing angry too.  

MacMillan says, "I'll be honest with you.  If there are only a few of you in the world, and no more are born, except to you, then I would encourage you to put up with secrecy.  But, if mutancy is the way of the future, then we had best prepare the smoothest path we can.  No point fighting over what can't be changed and what could prove useful.

"Of course, it won't be easy.  I spoke to Miss Diane Wells."

Charles feels Raven's misery.

"She was very distressed.  She used to be a friend of yours, I understand?"

"Yes," whispers Raven.

"If you can convince her to be your friend again, you may have some hope for the future.  There will always be closed-minded people, nothing you can do about that.  You have to sway the middle-ground.  Miss Wells will be good practice.

"I don't think there's much more to say.  You will have the protection of the British government, so long as you obey our laws, the same as any other citizen.  You understand, I shan't be looking over your shoulders, but I shall arrange some gentle oversight.  Nothing you will find onerous.  I have a thought ... "  He gives a small smile.  "Come back in six months and give me a progress report.  We'll all have had time to think and come up with more plans and possibilities then."

Erik breaks.  " _Why_?"

"Herr Lehnsherr?"

"Why would you do this?  We are not the same as you, we will end up at war, why would you help us now?"

 _Erik..._

 _You think he means it -_

 _He does mean it._

 _\- but it doesn't make sense!  He's hiding something._

 _He isn't._

MacMillan is looking at a piece of paper he has found.  "Are you familiar, sir, with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights?  Article one states 'All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.  They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood'.  I believe you are all endowed with reason and conscience.  You act, at least towards each other, in a spirit of brotherhood.  

"Therefore I shall regard you as human, and accord you the rights and privileges inherent to all humans."  He sits back and smiles.

"We're meant to trust our safety and freedom to abstract idealism?  To a _philosophy_?"

Charles didn't know anyone could spit the word 'philosophy'.  Erik's talents are quite remarkable, though he doesn't seem to know what to do with a gift horse.

MacMillan regards Erik for a moment.  "I can see that would be hard for you."  He nods slowly and looks down at the table.  "So trust in guilt.  I once made a ... a bad decision."  He spreads his hands and looks up at Erik.  "Perhaps God is giving me a chance to gain a little redemption in my old age."

Only Erik's habit of sounding polite in all circumstances saves his tone from being outright insulting as he says, "You think we were sent by _God_?"

MacMillan shrugs.  "I believe He created this world and guides it according to His ineffable will.  He must then have created you."

"Raven's nuns believed she came from the Devil."

Raven mutters, "They weren't my nuns."

MacMillan smiles.  "Theological differences."  He turns to Raven.  "Sister Erasmus asks to be remembered to you.  She was very pleased to hear you are well.  She tells me she has prayed for you for many years."

Raven puts her hands to her mouth, wide-eyed.  She takes them away and says, "Thank you, sir."  Charles is glad that someone from those dreadful old days cared and still does.

"Lovely," says Erik.  "But I'm not convinced."

"Well, then say that on the one hand, I'd rather have you where I can see you, and on the other, I think you will be useful to the country."

"The first I can believe.  As to the second, our powers are not yours to use.  We will decide what we do, when and how."

"Of course.  But you will at least listen when we ask?  When I heard that you can deflect missiles, my first thought was of the Blitz.  How many lives could we have saved if you had been with us then?  Assuming you would have decided to help, of course.  Would that be a suitable use for your powers?  You would not wish to be one of the merciless."

Charles can see Erik's jaw is tight.  Usually when Erik is angry he doesn't show it.  He doesn't get tense.  But that is when he is in control.  This is far out of his control and, Charles thinks, his understanding.

The Prime Minister says, "What use shall we ask you to be?  We shall see.  There's nothing else to say now.  You must trust me or not.  Goodbye, sir, Professor, Miss.  I look forward to hearing of your progress.  We shall meet again in six months."

"Thank you, Prime Minister," says Charles and Raven echoes it with a huge smile and great warmth.  The old man smiles back at her and raises his hand, a wave and perhaps a benediction.

As he wheels back from the table, Charles pauses.  "On the subject of obeying the laws.  We didn't enter the country entirely legally."

MacMillan waves his hand.  "I'll have the Home Secretary attend to it."

"Thank you, sir."

They leave.  Charles feels light and ebullient.  Raven is almost laughing with joy and they exchange happy smiles.  She takes his hand and squeezes it, then trots over to Gus and gives him a hug.  "He said 'yes'!"

"Hey, that's wonderful!  Congratulations."

Charles can feel that Gus is truly happy for them.  It's a pleasant contrast to the angry dark cloud at his side.  He looks up at Erik, whose face is grim.  Charles reaches out a little and is _pushed_ away.  It seems Erik has already started practising keeping Charles out.  Charles is hurt and his own anger starts to burn.  What the _hell_ is wrong with the man?

\---------------

He keeps a sunny expression on his face as they leave Downing Street, as they travel in the government Daimler to Paddington, as they buy their tickets and board the train.  Raven knows something is wrong, though.  She knows him.  She knows he ought to be bubbling over with words and plans.  She keeps giving him more and more worried looks, her happiness slowly bleeding away.  He regrets that, another thing to be angry at Erik about.  How dare he tarnish their triumph?  Arrogant, cynical, defeatist, bloody ... 

At last they are on the train to Oxford, settled in a compartment.  The door is closed and, Charles suspects, magnetically locked, not that the train is busy at all.  They pull out of the station and the train begins to rattle along.  Charles stares at Erik, who locks eyes with him.  Erik has a grip on his anger again, smoothing it under layers of calm and politesse.  Charles makes no attempt to rein in his own temper.

"Charles."

"Erik."

They lean towards each other to be heard over the sound of the train.

Erik says, "You can't ..."

"Watch me."

"This will not work."

"Why not?  Why not?!  He accepted us.  He wants us to stay ..."

"He wants to learn about his enemy and trick us into dropping our guard."  Sometimes, when Erik talks to him that way, sounding so calm and reasonable while they are arguing, it sounds like an adult gently correcting a child.  It drives Charles mad.

"He had _no_ hostility towards us."

"You can't be sure..."

"I beg your pardon?  _I_ can't be sure?"

"You were looking for what you wanted ..."

"How dare you?  Do I question you about your powers?  He was wary, yes, but he was excited too.  And he was honest all through both meetings."

"About Kennedy searching for another Charles Xavier?"

"He meant ..."

"I know what you think he meant but it clearly isn't true."

Charles grits his teeth.  "He sees us as an opportunity."

"Yes.  He'll try to make our power his own and when it doesn't work, he'll turn on us."

"I don't believe that.  He meant what he said about seeing us as human and respecting our rights.  He even meant what he said about God.  I don't agree with him but I won't disabuse him if it works for us."

Erik is shaking his head.  "God.  People who use God to justify their actions can do anything."

"You wouldn't let him justify himself with ideology.  Do you truly believe there's no-one in the world who doesn't live their life according to an ethical or moral code, rather than just the day to day pressures of survival and greed?"

"No.  He has just tried to yoke us.  When he realises it won't work, he will try to destroy us."

"He could have ..."

"He still thinks we might be of use to him.  Besides, he may not have tried to kill us himself, but he as good as said he's going to let the Americans do his dirty work for him."

"No.  He won't openly defend us but he has already defied them for us.  This from a man who has worked for his whole premiership to rebuild good relations with America.  Who gave men up to the Russians at the end of the war.  He was sincere about regretting that too."

"You don't know that that's what he meant."

"What else?"

"Who knows what dirty secrets a longterm politician has?"

Charles shakes his head.  "You don't believe well of anyone, do you?"

"I haven't lived my life in an ivory tower.  I have met the human race at its worst.  No country came out of the war nobly, not one.  Don't try to convince me with your insane optimism."

"So what will you do?  Sit to the side muttering dire predictions and imprecations while the rest of us build something good?"

"I will do what I intended all along before I gave in to your idealism."

Charles can't believe it.  He wonders why not.  Of course Erik will leave.  Of course.  He sits back and looks at his friend, who straightens up too.  He knew Erik disapproved.  He just never imagined he would punish success so harshly.

Charles stares out at the countryside, the gentle, lovely landscape of his home, with its muddled old towns and villages.  He supposes Australia would have its own charm and he has heard that New Zealand is quite like England in some places.  While being dramatically different.  And on the other side of the world.  Or was it like Scotland?  Perhaps he will visit Erik one day and find out.  He imagines he will someday be able to manage so long a journey.

He wishes his anger would help him say a good riddance to Erik but he shies away even from the thought of it.  Erik's anger, cynicism, his desire to smash the world.  He will miss all of it.  How pathetic.  He feels a stupid ball of misery curl up inside him.

Still.  He always knew Erik might leave one day.  Believed on the beach that he was about to go and wouldn't have stopped him, then, if that's what he needed.  He had felt defeated then, felt that perhaps Erik should act as he saw best because how could Charles guide him when he had been so wrong? But he's got his perspective back now, albeit slightly modified, and it's so frustrating, when they had agreed to see how things would go and to try working together, to have Erik toss their deal aside so easily.  But they did have a deal.  Perhaps he can work on Erik again before he leaves. 


	23. Which has many decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yiddish : A klog im - damn him.

**Erik**

They don't talk again, not on the train, not in the car.  Raven keeps giving them both doleful, imploring looks but is wise enough not to say anything.  Michaels keeps his head down.  Erik wonders if Charles will have the sense to send the man away or if he'll let him stay after Erik has left.

Charles.  A klog im!  And damn MacMillan.  Erik can't blame Charles for being drawn in, when the man seemed to offer him everything he wants.  But he can, does blame him for reneging on their deal, for willfully overturning their plans for his own selfish dreams.

The others rush to greet them and Erik leaves them to hear the news and take it as they wish.  To judge from the whoops behind him as he enters the dim kitchen, they take it well.  He climbs to the bedroom to pack, thinking that soon there will be winter light in these corridors, soon the curtains and shutters will be thrown open.  They'll need to do some work to make it habitable, particularly for Charles.  They'll need furniture, of course.  He wonders what it will look like, what sort of home Charles will make for them.  Perhaps he'll see it one day.

He regrets that he must leave.  He knows Charles is beyond convincing and hopes that the lessons, when they come, are not too painful.  He wonders whether he should stay, to help his friend through them.  He wonders whether to just take Charles with him, to hell with his protests.  With some regret, he decides it would be better to have a haven set up for Charles when he needs it.

Erik changes for travelling.  Charles comes in while he is laying his clothes on the bed, ready to pack.  They don't speak.  Erik wonders if Charles has anything left to say.  He feels that there are many things he wants to say, some urgently, but they're just feelings, not clothed in words.  He supposes he could just offer to let Charles feel them; strangely, he feels embarrased at their nakedness.

It doesn't take long to pack his few items.  He looks towards Charles, sitting in his wheelchair, staring at Erik.

Charles says, "Don't go.  We need you."

Erik says, "Come with me.  I need you."

"I cannot give this up.  The opportunity to work peacefully for the acceptance of mutants.  To gather mutants without having to hide, to help people without building speculation and suspicion."

"To tell them all our secrets and give them time to think up weapons that can hurt us.  To make us their lackeys until they decide we're not worth the price.  Until we become _presumptious_ enough to want more than they allow us."

"He wasn't lying about seeing us as humans, about recognizing our rights."

"Maybe he wasn't.  He's one man."

"The most powerful one."

"This is a functioning democracy.  He'll be gone in a few years.  Come with me.  Come now, while you still can."

Charles scrubs his face with his hands.

"And do what?"

"Help me ensure our victory."

"There doesn't have to be a war!  We've just proven that."

"It's a stay of execution, nothing more."

"You don't _know_ ... "

" _I_ know.  Do you want to see what I know?"  He takes Charles' fingers and puts them to his own temple.  "Look.  Understand what humans are."

Charles pulls away.  Erik doesn't blame him.  He doesn't want Charles to have to live that.  He just wishes, so desperately, that Charles would understand.

Charles says, "Even if I had your memories, I would still have my own.  And I ... I don't want yours.  I don't want to know that suffering and I don't want to be forced to kill like that.  I don't want to learn those lessons.  If we are to have any chance of avoiding war, I have to stay true to my own beliefs."

"Do you know what I learned from Auschwitz?"

"I can't imagine."

"I had the skills I needed to defeat the guards at least two months before Shaw left.  I learned fast and I was full of rage.  Shaw held my father over me to keep me obedient.  If I behaved, my father would live.  If I had sacrificed my father, I could have saved tens of thousands of lives.  I should have saved those lives."

"You couldn't have made that choice."

"Not then, no.  But now I can.  I will.  I will not sacrifice mutant lives for you, for anyone.  You are putting sentiment above lives.  I won't help you do this.  All you'll do is teach them how to beat you.  How to beat us."

Charles says nothing for a moment.  Then, "I didn't mean to create a problem for you."

"You thought I would want their acceptance."

"I thought you would see that not everyone will reject us."

Erik thinks of all the times they've had this argument.  Their words change but not their positions.  There's no point talking anymore.

"You can always come back," says Charles.  "If it starts to seem wrong."

"You can always come to me.  When it goes wrong."  He lifts his bag onto his shoulder.  "I'll come and visit from time to time."

Charles looks up at him, brightening at his offer.  "Do.  You know you'll be welcome."

"For now."

"Always."

Erik shakes his head.  Charles still does not understand what he means to do.

Charles holds out his hand.  "Goodbye, my friend."  

Erik takes it.  "Goodbye, Charles."

Charles' mouth opens, closes.  Whatever he might have said, he settles for, "Keep in touch."

"Of course."  He grips Charles' hand then walks away.

\---------------

"Stay," says Raven.  "We need you."

"Come with me.  You wanted to before."

"That was before.  I can't leave Charles."

"You shouldn't stay just for duty."

"I _don't_.  He's my brother, I love him.  Don't you understand that?"

"Then help me persuade him to come."

"What they're offering is what Charles and I both want.  Why would we run from this?  Why would you?"

He opens his mouth.

"Yes, yes, I've heard it already.  'The humans will kill us if we don't kill them first'.  Hasn't the last day changed your mind at all?"

"After thirty years of knowing the hatred and deceit of the human race?  No.  This is no different from the CIA.  They want to use us.  When they realise they can't control us, they will turn on us too."

"Please stay.  Maybe you need us."

That amuses him enough that he laughs softly.  "I regret that you won't come, but I think I'll survive without you."

She looks sad.  To his surprise, she gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  She lingers close a moment and he realises that he could take her with him.  If he returned the kiss, placing it on her lips.  If he held her close and murmured that he does need her.  He could take her with him, the ultimate infiltrator.

But it would be wrong.  It would be a lie and he can't build the future on deception.  He steps back.  "Goodbye, Raven.  Look after yourself."

\---------------

"You're leaving?" asks Angel.

"Yes.  Will you come?"

"Maybe.  Raven asked me what I want.  It boils down to comfort, safety and respect."

"I can't guarantee your safety.  We will be at war.  The rest I can promise.  In fairness, the same is true for Charles.

"Maybe.  But I figure the best chance for safety is to be on the winning side.  I think that's you.  You're right about humans and I don't think the Professor will figure that out until it's too late."

"No.  Get your bags.  Meet me in the kitchen in five minutes."

\---------------

"Raven said you're going."    

Erik looks at Alex.  "I am.  Come with me."

"You don't just walk out on your friends."

"But neither should you throw out your beliefs for them.  Anyway, I don't want us to part company. Help me persuade them to come too."

"The Professor ..."

"... will come if the rest of you do."

Alex shakes his head.  "Sean won't come.  And I don't think Hank will either."

"That's unfortunate.  They don't understand yet."

"I'm not sure I do.  I meant what I said before.  I'm not just going to kill.  I can't."

"But you will defend.  Humans ... _people_ won't accept us.  They'll try to tell us what to do and if we won't be told, they'll attack."

"I have to wait 'til then."

"Fine.  But not here, not under their eyes, not where they can learn about us and have time to plan to defeat us."

Alex wavers, his eyes flickering around.  "But, what they're offering..."

"Won't last.  If it ever starts."

"Why won't you stay with us?  Why won't you try?"

Erik just shakes his head.

"You don't walk out on your friends."  The words are whispered.

"I'll be back, when you need me.  When you're ready."

Alex looks at him, head on one side.  Then he slowly nods and holds out his hand.  Erik shakes it, then pats the young man on the shoulder as he walks past.

\---------------

"Are you really leaving?" asks Sean.

"Yes."

Sean fidgets, looks at his feet.  "I ... I wish you'd stay," he mumbles.  Then he looks up.  "And I say that even though you pushed me off a thousand foot satellite dish."

"More like five hundred.  Come with me."  He doesn't think there's much chance but he has to try.

"I don't get it.  Why would you leave now?  Things are just turning around."

"They'll turn against us soon enough."

"You don't know that."  

"I know humans."

"You know bigots.  And I am human."

"You think so.  They won't agree.  And do you think only a handful of bigots committed the worst slaughter in history?"

"I don't ... I don't know about that.  That's beyond me."

"All humans are the same."

"Then we're the same too."

He is taken aback.  "We're better than them."

"Bullshit!  Have you ever listened to yourself?  Anyway, you and Alex and Angel, you all think I've never been through it.  Have you ever seen the signs outside apartment buildings in New York?  No dogs, no blacks, no Irish.  My Dad's a cop, trying to protect them and they wouldn't even rent to us.  So yeah, I know there are jerks in the world.  And you, you want me to model myself on them!"

"I want you to help defend against them."

"Tell me if I come with you, I'll be able to see my family again.  Tell me I'll be a cop, not a soldier."

"Is there a difference?"

"You don't know?"  Sean shakes his head.  "Sir, I respect you.  But I could never follow you."

"One day."

Sean shakes his head again.

\---------------

Michaels is in the kitchen, turning a juice bottle back and forth in his hands.

"You'll make sure that Charles gets the best treatment," says Erik.

"I will."

Erik nods.

"I know you rate my opinion somewhat lower than a slug's, but I think you should stay."

"Oh?"

"There's no-one else out there who'll accept you the way he does.  You will never find as good a friend again."

Erik pauses.  The doctor is a _very_ annoying man.  He'll be glad to be away from him.

"I don't mean accept you as a mutant, I mean as a man.  You're a difficult man, but he likes that about you.  He isn't trying to change you, no matter what you think.  He just wants you to hope."

"But that's _not_ who I am."

"Oh, I don't know.  You're a powerful man, who sincerely wants to build a future for his people.  That's a hope, albeit a restricted one.  But you aren't the first man like that, and a mistake a lot of powerful men make is to only listen to people who say what they want to hear.  You need someone who lo... who accepts you for everything you are.  Who challenges you, and who can bring out the best in you.  From what I've heard, the people you're aiming to find are going to bring out the worst."

"Save your prescriptions for your patients, doctor."

Michaels nods, raises his hand as though to offer it but then turns the movement into a small wave.  Angel comes into the kitchen.  Erik nods to Michaels, Angel says, "Bye, Doc," and they leave.

\---------------

"Stay," says a voice from the hayloft.

Erik pauses at the car door.  He smiles, his back to the voice.  "Hank.  I was starting to think you didn't care."

"I don't.  You want a different path, that's fine.  Let me rephrase.  Stay a while."

"Why?"

Hank swings down from the loft, doing a double somersault and landing a few feet from him.  "It's going to take a few weeks to adapt this place for the Professor.  Install lifts, ramps, whatever else I can think of.  I also have to set up a lab, build practice rooms, a new reinforced nuclear bunker and a new Cerebro.  Alex and Sean can help a bit.  It'll be easier, though, if I don't have to keep breaking off to carry the Professor somewhere.  You're the only other one strong enough to do that.  And you can help with a lot of the metallurgy.  So stay until we're set up."

Erik shakes his head.  "I have my own plans to set in motion.  And I'm no-one's body servant."  He unlocks the car.

"I thought you would be a friend.  But since you're not, I'll make it worth your while."

Erik pauses with the door open.

"I'll give you the plans to Cerebro.  How long did it take Shaw to pull in three mutants?  With Cerebro you pulled in four in a month.  And now you'll be in a race against us.  You'll probably still need a telepath but I guess Frost's out there somewhere.  That's the offer.  I won't tell the others if you won't.  I wouldn't hurt them that way.  I guess the Professor will know.  Maybe he'll decide to toss you out himself.  Wanna find out?"

He walks past Erik, bumping his shoulder in a childish macho display.  It amuses Erik, even as he steadies himself and admires Hank's strength.  He turns to watch Hank leap up into the hayloft and swing out the back window.

Cerebro.  Yes.  That's something worth staying for.  He looks at Angel.

"We're staying?" she asks.

"For a while."  He shuts and locks the car, turns away.

"Guess it makes sense.  What will the Professor say?"

"Let's find out."  He is smiling and feels strangely light as they walk back towards the house.  Cerebro will make his plans easier.  And there's no reason he shouldn't start the search for Frost and purchase his own base while helping out here.  He can still spend evenings planning with Charles, still sharpen his wits against those of his friend.  He can watch Charles training the students and try to emulate his methods.

All in all, this is a better plan.

He looks up at the house.  Charles is looking out of Erik's window.  Erik wonders if Charles listened in to Hank's offer.  He gestures to his temple and Charles raises his fingers to his own.  Erik shows Charles why he's staying, what he has agreed with Hank.

Charles nods solemnly and quirks his mouth in a sad smile.  Erik thinks Charles is hurt but he wants honesty between them.  He doesn't want Charles to expect too much of him.

 _I do appreciate the honesty.  You have never lied to me._

 _I never will._

 _You have no idea how much you are capable of._

 _I know exactly what I am capable of.  I am a weapon.  I am made to destroy._

 _You are so much more than that._

 _No._

A mental sigh.  _Of course you are.  Would a weapon carry me downstairs because Hank's gone off to brood?_

Erik smiles and Charles' smile brightens.  He thinks, _Erik Lehnsherr, lethal weapon and valet._

Erik replies, _Erik Lehnsherr_ , _lethal weapon and friend._

He hoped it would not have to change.


	24. Which is domestic

**Still Erik**

Erik opens the door to the kitchen.  Four glad faces raise their eyes to his, with big grins of relief that make him feel warm and scornful.  Alex gets a cheeky look in his eye, opens his mouth and then jerks and glares at Michaels.  It seems the doctor's oath doesn't extend to shins.  

Erik says, "I'm going to get Charles.  Why don't the rest of you let in some light?"

He climbs the stairs, hearing feet thumping along the corridors on the ground floor, the rush of curtains on rails and the banging of shutters.  The first shafts of light break the darkness.  They lay bare the dust.  He must ask Charles to call the cleaners in tomorrow.  

Charles is waiting at the top of the stairs.  He is illuminated, with shadows behind, and Erik lifts him away from them and brings him down into the fresh winter light.  Charles looks around him.  "I'd better call the Carters in to give the place a thorough scrubbing," he says.  "Still," he looks up at Erik, "it's good to be home.  I hope you'll be happy here, however long you stay."

Erik wants to gently reject the wish.  Just now, though, it doesn't seem entirely unlikely.  He warns himself to be careful and simply says, "We have a lot to do."

"We do.  Lunch first.  Then we can plan."

Erik nods and they go to the kitchen while Angel and Sean race up the stairs to brighten the first floor.  

After lunch, Erik gets a pencil and paper.  The eight of them are seated around the kitchen table again.  Charles says, "We have a huge amount to do.  We need to work out what, when and who will be in charge of each task."

Erik says, "We need to decide on our immediate practical needs.  What do we need first before anything?"

"Central heating," chorus the younger crowd.  

"Or possibly wheelchair adaptation?" says Erik, starting to write.  

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right."

"Rehab and PT," says Michaels.  "First thing tomorrow."  He looks at Charles, who concedes with a nod.  "They might want you to stay at a rehab centre a while."

Charles says, "I'd rather not."

"It's not a bad idea," says Erik.  Everyone looks at him in surprise.  "Adaptation will include installing a lift, ramps, other things," he shrugs, "that I don't know about.  Add in central heating, a security system including a fire alarm -"

"Sprinklers," adds Alex.  

"- labs, workshops, practice rooms ..."

"A new bunker," says Charles, nodding.  "It all adds up to a building site."

"For the next couple of months at least.  You'll be better off out of it."

He sighs.  "Yes, you're right."

Hank says, "I don't think we can do all that ourselves in only a couple of months.  We'll need outside contractors."

"We'll build the security and practice rooms ourselves.  Everything else we'll have done professionally."

"We need to contact the utilities," says Charles.  "Water, electricity, telephone.  We should probably get in some coal to tide us over until the heating is running, perhaps a few electric fires.  And we should arrange regular deliveries from the butcher, milkman, greengrocer."

Raven chips in with, "Furniture, cutlery, crockery, more linens, all of which means ..." she turns to look pointedly at Charles.  

He sighs.  "Contacting Ma."

She takes his hand.  "You say it like it's a bad thing.  Charles, do you think she's going to be _angry_ with you?"

"No.  Of course not."  He stares down at their hands for a moment then says quietly, "She's going to be very upset."  He pats her hand and withdraws his own.  

Raven is looks sympathetic but confused.  Erik thinks about Charles' connection to his mother.  He remembers how Charles could not block out Shaw's pain, and the troubles he had dealing with the other patients in the hospital, particularly when he was tired.  He had kept the helmet with him.  Although it's not quite the same, Erik suspects it will be hard to block out his mother's grief, especially if they're communicating telepathically.  

To distract them, he says, "Once the hire cars are returned, we're going to need transport."

They all perk up and look at him.  

"Car shopping?" asks Alex.  

Erik nods.  This meets with general excitement and voices raised in instant debate.  The names Ford, Buick and Pontiac can be picked out.  Erik is thinking more of a Jaguar E-type, but they'll probably need a Daimler too to fit the wheelchair in the boot.  He wonders if Charles is a Jaguar or Aston Martin man.  

Hank's voice rises above.  "And a van," he says.  "For equipment."

Erik adds this to the list.  "Anything else?"

"Well," says Charles, "I'm afraid that Sean finds himself in a country where he's no longer allowed to drive.  When do you turn seventeen?"

"Three months," says Sean, horrified.  

"You'll have to take a test then."

"Oh, man."

"It will be worth your while to learn to deal with roundabouts," says Erik.  "Maybe Alex can join you."

"It just threw me, OK?  I've never seen one before."

"Round and round and round," says Angel, swinging her finger through the air.

"Welcome to England," says Charles.  "The rest of you will have to look into whether your licences still apply.  Maybe we can get a couple of bicycles in the mean time.  And trains go from the village to Oxford once an hour."

Hank says, "Can we afford all this?  We need to have some money left for equipment."

"Yes," say Erik and Charles together, not needing to look at each other.  

"Anything else?" asks Erik.  

The others stop trading wide-eyed looks and turn thoughtful.  Sean raises his hand.  "Can I write my parents now?"

"I don't see why not," says Charles.  He glances at Erik, who nods.  "In fact, we'll see if we can arrange for you to telephone them."

"Wow.  Thanks."

"Not at all.  You've all been through so much and you've received little enough in return."

"That's not true," jumps in Sean.  "That's not close to true.  I was just this guy with a weird throat.  You made me more than that.  You've made us powerful.  We're heroes, even if no-one else sees it.  And you taught me to fly.  That's just, that's worth everything."

"It's true," says Alex.  "This is better than I've ever known.  I was in a cell, now I'm in a mansion.  And we're going car shopping on _your_ dime."

Charles smiles and says, "You understand that not all the American car models are available over here."

"Sure, but the British have got some hot wheels too.  Like that car James Bond was driving in Dr No?  Did you see that?"

"The Sunbeam Alpine.  Not bad.  I prefer an Aston Martin, myself."

Ah.  Erik would work on that.  

Angel says, "Wait.  You actually noticed something other than Ursula Andress?"

"The bikini," says Alex, staring into space.  

Charles, Sean and Michaels all take a moment and Hank looks between them all in confusion before turning to Erik who shrugs and says, "I didn't see it either."

The other four snap back.  Sean says, "Hank, you _have_ to."

Erik says, "We'll put that down as a mid-term plan."

Michaels raises his hand.  He looks back and forth between Erik and Charles.  "Uh, there's something I was, um ...  .  I wasn't sure but since you seem to be talking some big ticket items ..."

"Go ahead," says Charles, looking interested.  

Michaels looks at him.  "A swimming pool.  You aren't going to be working your cardiovascular system the way you used to.  You need to find a substitute in order to avoid some long-term health issues.  Swimming is good general exercise."

Charles echoes what Erik is thinking.  "How can I swim like this?"

"There's ways, flotation devices; they'll talk you through it at rehab.  Well, that depends on the clinic.  Some of them are more, um, progressive than others.  More … empathic.  But I know it is possible and a good clinic will teach you and why would you go to a bad one?  And then the local pool might not have the equipment you need.  So."

Erik says, "It's something we could all benefit from.  We could convert one of the barns into a pool and gym."

Charles says, "All right."  Then he grins and raises an eyebrow, "With a sauna?"

"Now you mention it ..."

Alex perks up and looks between them and the women.  "Nudity?"

Angel says, "I worry how much you're getting into this nudity thing."

"Me?  You're a stripper!"

" _Ex_ -stripper.  And that was for money."

"Gym with a pool," says Erik.  "What else?"

"Cerebro," says Charles.  They share a look, Erik nods and writes it down.  "An infirmary," Charles adds, "and if you're willing, doctor, I think it's important for us all to have first aid training."

"Sure, absolutely," says Michaels.  

"Anything else?" asks Erik.  

Charles says "I can't think of anything else just now."

"It would be useful to have a new Blackbird," says Erik.  "If there are two thousand mutants out there, we may need more bedrooms.  That's long-term, though."  

Raven says, "Actually, there is one more thing."  She looks round all of them, including a significant gaze with Angel, who nods.  "I hope you have all noticed Angel's handiwork."  When they look blank, she gestures like a magician's assistant at the table and the floor.  

Erik remembers what he noticed earlier.  "You cleaned."

"I used the water and soap flakes from the laundry," says Angel, "turned a sheet into rags.  It's not the full job but it'll make it nicer to eat."

"Thank you."

"Yes," says Raven, "but it raises an important issue.  Either we hire a housekeeper, or we work out a cleaning rota, right now."

Erik sits back and watches her.  He doesn't like the suggestion of bringing someone else in, and is frankly surprised that she made it.  Then again, she is the one most in favour of living openly.

"A cleaning rota?" says Hank.  "I'm not going to have time for cleaning."

"OK, I get you have a lot to do.  But the rest of us can split the work."  She pokes Charles.  "Don't think the wheelchair gets you out of doing your share.  There's still plenty you can do."

"Me?"

"You cook."

He gives her a look.  

"You've cooked for me."

"Only when you were too tired to notice what you were eating."

"Charles..."

"This isn't important now, is it?  We'll work something out as we go along."

"No.  Who did the cooking while we were in Westchester?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Just tell me."

Erik and Charles look at each other; Charles shrugs and turns back to her.  "We got take-away food from the restaurant quite often and the rest of the time ...  .  All right, you cooked the rest of the time."  He smiles at her."You're a good cook."

"Thank you."

"You like cooking."

"Sometimes.  That's not the point.  Who did the washing up?"

"Um."  Charles scratches his head.  "I'm not entirely ..."

"Moira," supplies Raven.  "She did it.  Though kudos to Sean for offering to help a couple of times.  And who did the laundry?  And the ironing?  And the cleaning?"

"We weren't there that long," says Charles, "but I take your point."

"Long enough," says Raven.  "All those jobs were done once.  By me and Moira, when we couldn't bear it anymore."

Erik stares at his shoes, which he polishes himself, and thinks about washing his own clothes and sheets in Westchester.  He hadn't washed for anyone else, why would he?  He was too busy to clean anything but his own en suite, and anyway he prefers to pay people to clean.  Actually, he'd probably prefer just to order them to do it, but he will clean, if it comes to that.  He likes things to be clean and neat, smart, not scruffy, not filthy.  He was just too busy then to organise them all.  Excuses.  

"You're right," he says to Raven.  "From now on, we share the load equally."

"Or we'll pay someone else to do it for us," says Charles.  

"Rich boy _._ "  Even though he would choose it if he could.  

Charles smiles and shrugs.  "It's the easiest solution.  We hire a housekeeper."

"No."

"Why not?"

They are all looking at him.  Erik can tell he's alone on this one.  Or perhaps, not quite.  He looks at Hank, who is looking at the others with worry.  He turns to Erik with reluctant pleading in his eyes.  

Erik looks back at Charles.  "Because none of us want to have to hide in our own home."

"We'll hire someone who accepts us."

He says it so simply and Erik still can't decide if he's a determined optimist or hopelessly naive.  "I look forward to seeing how you word the advertisement."

"We'll think of something.  Do you really want to spend any of your time doing the housework for eight people in a place this size?"

Erik goes through a battle between his reason and his inclinations; his stubbornness refuses but in truth he doesn't want to spend time on menial jobs.  "Our enemies will try to use it as a front -"

"I'll notice."

"- or get to us through whomever we hire."

"Which will cause a heavy emotional response which I will notice."

"You can't be sure of that."

"I wasn't planning on hiring a sociopath.  Loyalty and a disinclination for murder will be prerequisites."

"I won't live with someone who sees us as freaks and threats."

"Neither will I.  There are people who will accept us."  He points to Dr Michaels.  Erik gazes unfondly at the man.  It was a bad miscalculation to bring him along.  His perverse open-mindedness and unnatural acceptance of them is being used too often as an example of normal behaviour.

Raven breaks in.  "How about this?  Even if we hire someone, it's not going to happen tomorrow.  So.  We set up a rota now for cooking, washing up, laundry and cleaning.  We see how it goes.  If it works out OK or if we can't find someone, then we carry on like that.  If we find someone we like and trust, then we give up some of the load."

Charles and Erik nod.  "Fair enough.  That's everything, then?"

Sean raises his hand again.  "You said, they might try to get at us through a housekeeper."

"Yes."

"What about our families?"

Erik says, "Undoubtedly."  Charles gives him a look but Erik can't see any reason to lie.  "There's nothing you can do about it now.  Wait and plan.  It may not be your family they threaten, Hank's and Dr Michaels' are also likely targets."

Michaels goes pale.  Hank jerks up from his slouch and swings his head back and forth between them.  "What?  We've got to do something."

"We'll deal with it when it happens."

"We could tell them to get out now," offers Sean.  

"Would they listen to you?  If they tried, it might force the CIA's hand.  Besides, where would they go?"

Sean is tentative.  "Here?" he suggests.  He looks at Erik's bland expression.  "Or not."

Charles says, "They'd be welcome for as long as they need."

Erik looks at the list in front of him.  He suspects Charles knows what he thinks of that idea.  "Anything else?"

They're all silent, shaking their heads.  

He looks at Charles.  "You'll be starting rehab soon.  You and Hank need to design your laboratories and you need to tell us any ideas you have for the practice rooms so we can prepare."

Raven says, "It's not like rehab is a monastery.  I'm guessing he'll be allowed visitors."

Charles answers, "It's all right, Raven.  There's a lot to do."

"But we _will_ visit you."

"You'd better."  He looks down, takes a deep breath, looks up at Erik.  "Unless there's anything else, I'd better contact Ma."  Erik raises his eyebrows.  He had thought Charles would put that off, take the opportunity to work with Hank instead.  Charles explains, "This is still her house.  I ought to get her permission before we change it too much.  Besides, she'll know who to ask about housekeepers, and her business manager will be able to recommend builders and contractors.  And," he surrenders gracefully, "she needs to know all the rest."

He wheels back from the table and says, "I'll do it in the garden."

Raven asks, "Do you want some company?"

"No.  Thank you."

He leaves and Erik turns to the others.  "We need to map the house, evaluate each room and decide on its use."  He stands and they follow him.  


	25. Wherein we meet someone new

**Charles**

It's colder today, though there's still enough sun to be pleasant outside.  Charles sits, mentally designing his labs, and then sternly lectures himself.  Ma.  Call Ma.  

He slowly raises his fingers, takes a deep breath and falls into his mind towards the point of connection.  He opens it and mentally clears his throat.  

_Charles!_

He feels her deep relief and lingering worry, beneath it all her pleasure at his presence, and her love.  He's always known that his mother loved him, that's why he could let her go away so much.  He knew she loved him but she needed to be in a busier place than he could bear.  It was a happy day when he could manage the city at last.  

There is a pause.  He can feel her attention divided elsewhere, talking to someone.  A minute, silence, then she turns to him.  

_Charles!  Darling, where have you BEEN?  Where's Raven?_

_With me.  It's a long story.  We're at Redbearn now._

_What are you doing at that old place?  There's nothing there.  What's wrong with Oxford?_

_Long, long story.  We'd like to live here now.  With some friends of ours._

_Friends?_

_Mutants, like us._ A pause and he can feel her worry increasing so he just ploughs on.  Best to do it all in one go.  _We're going to need to make some alterations to the building so we can work here, some laboratories, reinforced practice rooms, a security system.  We'd like to install central heating as well and we'll need lifts and ramps and such because_ \- and you can't choke on a thought or he would have done but it just breezes through - _I'm in a wheelchair.  Probably permanently, I'm afraid._ He tries to think of something else to say but nothing comes.  The words are stuck behind the emotion he's evading.  

For a few seconds he feels only shock and her struggle to understand and to believe what he has said.  Then the grief comes and the love-pity-protection-guilt-darling, darling and she is wrapping her love and compassion around him and he chokes and breaks again.  He has lost his legs, they are dead, he is struck down and can never rise up, stuck in this awful contraption, _oh God_.  

_Darling!  Oh my boy, my dearest, own boy._

He struggles against it because this is weakness and there's no point being so emotional about it, so _pitiful_.  And he thinks he's hunched over and shaking and what if the others can see him?

_Well, can they?_

_No._ And he let's himself be broken a little while, in his mother's comfort.  

\---------------

After only a little while, because it really doesn't do to be so wet -

_You are half French, you know._

_Yes, but not half ITALIAN._

\- he pulls himself together and withdraws a bit.  

 _Um.  Yes, so._ He scrubs his face.  _It turns out there may be quite a number of mutants in the world and I have the capacity to find them.  I want to start researching in earnest and I'd like to provide a haven for any of them that want to live freely and openly.  Relatively openly - among ourselves, at least.  I've already spoken to the Prime Minister.  As I said, we'd like to live here but we'll need to make a few alterations.  Nothing awful.  We'll just make it more habitable and put in some labs._

_You've spoken to MacMillan?  Is that wise?_

_Compared to doing it without speaking to him?  Yes.  Anyway, blame Raven, it was her idea._

_That doesn't mean you had to ...  ._

_Yes, all right.  But we're in a bit of a jam with the Americans and Russians and then there's Hank who can't hide anymore except if he lives in a cellar, which is a bit much to ask.  Though possibly not too far from his previous life, really.  And if he doesn't want to live in a hole somewhere, it would be a bit cowardly to make him fight for acceptance all on his own._

_Hank?_

_Dr Henry McCoy, young genius, who needs to learn not to rush his experiments.  Or use himself as a guinea-pig.  I wonder whether there are any real mutant guinea-pigs for us to work on.  After all, if it's happening to humans, is it such a stretch to imagine ...  ?_

_Charles, darling, do try to focus for a moment.  Who are these people?_

_It really is a long story.  Give me a moment._ He pulls back further for space to organise his thoughts.  He considers the past few weeks, selecting events to share with her and carefully sending them through the link - meeting Moira, the arrangement with the CIA, Shaw's boat and Erik in the water, Hank and Cerebro, images of the others as they found them, images from the last battle, falling.  He skips the details of Shaw's death and of exactly how he got hit.  _And then Erik and Moira got me to a hospital.  The doctors were very good but there's only so much that can be done, in these circumstances.  But we did pick up a splendid doctor to bring with us, and now we're here._

There is a pause.  _Tell me more about this Erik._

She would pick up on him.  _He's a powerful mutant and he's my friend.  Look, why don't you come down and meet them all?  You might want to stay in Oxford though, the house is a bit dusty._

_Yes, I think I should._

He thinks she's referring to both suggestions.  Honestly.  He's thirty, he doesn't need his mother vetting his friends.  He squashes the thought before it gets to the link.  _And if you're coming, could you possibly dig out the bits and pieces from here?  We need, well, everything._

_I'll have Higgs and Mrs Higgs look into it.  And I'll ask Gillray to find some builders and servants._

_No servants._

_Charles!_

_Ma, this is not a typical household.  We're considering having a housekeeper but it would take someone rather special._

_Hm.  I have heard of someone rather special.  I'll ask Liliane._

_Ma ..._

_I'll check with you before I hire anyone._

_We'll do the hiring, Mother._

_I just want to help._

_Of course.  I want that too.  Linens, crockery, cutlery, pots and pans, furniture and builders are an excellent place to start._

_All right, darling._

_I have to go now.  I need to make some plans with Hank.  Dr Michaels wants me to attend a rehabilitation clinic to learn how to manage.  So I need to sort a few things out beforehand._

_What centre?_

_We're going to make enquiries tomorrow._

_I'll call Gerald, I'm sure he'll know someone._

_Thank you.  I'll see you soon, Ma._

_Yes, my dear._ She's done a good job of holding back her feelings but they start to well up again.  _Look after yourself._

_I have some very good people who are looking after me._

_Hm._ She can't quite hide from him her opinion of the job they've done so far.  

 _Trust me.  I'm among friends._ He thinks of what Raven once told him and finally admits that she was right.  Liking people just isn't the same thing.  _I'm finally among friends._

She accepts this and he sends her a burst of affection before closing the link.  

\---------------

Charles' morning starts the same as every other morning since.  He wakes, tries to remember which lectures and experiments are planned for today, doesn't recognise where he is, remembers his legs and gets depressed.  It's a boring routine but he doesn't see an end to it.  In any case, he quite enjoys having a minute every morning not knowing.  

At least this morning he can open the curtains.  The low clouds don't help his mood and he wonders whether just to go back to bed and pull the covers over.  It isn't as though there's anything to look forward to today, just finding a rehabilitation clinic.  He thinks that ought to seem like a good thing but it doesn't.  

He washes and dresses, not because bed isn't more attractive, but because it's something he can just about manage for himself.  Awkwardly and swearing but alone.  

He is doing up his shirt when he hears cars cutting through the country silence.  He wheels to the window and peers through, wiping it with his cuff to get rid of some of the dirt.  He spots a line of vehicles - cars, vans and trucks - coming out of the trees, just as Erik arrives at his shoulder.  

"MacMillan?" asks Erik.  "If it's the Americans, they're being a lot less subtle than I expected."

"Ah," says Charles, as he recognises the car in front.  "No.  No, it's Ma."  He looks up at Erik.  "Would you give me a lift to the front door?  And then tell the others to brush up as best they can?"

Erik leans against the wall and folds his arms.  

"You look fine.  The others, though.  Especially the boys.  It would be nice if they would make an effort."

Erik puts his head on one side with a bright 'oh really?' look.  

"We're asking to live in her house.  And we'd better go now, before they open the front door.  She won't be alone and I doubt she'll have suddenly told her whole staff about me."

He snags his jacket from the bed as they pass.  In the corridor, they meet Sean and Alex stumbling out of their rooms, having slept in their clothes again.  

"My mother's come," says Charles.  

"What?  Here?" Says Alex, looking down at himself.  

"It is her house."

"I imagine she wants to see Charles," says Erik.  

Sean says, "We'd better wash up."

Alex scratches his head.  "I think I've got a clean shirt.  Maybe."

Charles feels chastened and grateful.  "Thank you," he says as Erik lifts him over the bannister.  They both levitate down; wheels and feet touch the floor as the front door opens.  Charles builds up his telepathic shields, ready to meet her.  

Gillray holds the door open for her and she takes four steps in to the dim hall before freezing at the sight of her son.  He pushes himself forward.  Her eyes flicker over his body and the chair.  She swallows and drags on a smile while her eyes try not to cry.  

"Ma.  I didn't expect you so soon."

"Darling."  Her voice is husky.  "Where else would I be?"  She takes a breath and her voice strengthens.  "I would have come last night but I wanted to bring a few things with me."  

A lie.  She wanted to compose herself, he thinks.  Not to blub all over him, which he appreciates.  "It's wonderful to see you."  He stops a couple of steps away.  

She closes the distance and bends down to kiss his cheek.  He has to shove hard against his shields to stop the touch-transmitted feelings overwhelming him.  She straightens only a little and cups his cheek then snatches her hand away as she remembers about the emotional transference.  He keeps leaning on his shields and takes her hand briefly, squeezing it before letting go.  He gives her a half smile.  Her lips try to form one through the pain.  She stands, ruffles his hair gently, then steps back and clasps her hands, a little too tightly.  

"Ma, this is Erik Lehnsherr.  He's been a good friend and we're going to work together.  Erik, my mother, Althea Marko-Xavier."

They look at each other.  

"Mrs Marko-Xavier."

"Mr Lehnsherr."


	26. Wherein Erik tries to be fair

**Erik**

Charles' mother is a small woman, dressed with elegance and subtle wealth.  Her blond hair is frosting over, neatly arranged around a powder-soft face and her son's eyes.  Those eyes are looking at him with some doubt but she offers her hand.  Then she loses interest in him and turns back to Charles.  

Four people are standing behind her.  Charles mentally names them for him.  The man at her shoulder, wearing a hat and winter coat, carrying a briefcase, is her business manager, John Gillray.  Behind them a smart, plain young woman with another briefcase - Cherry Pevensey, her secretary.  Standing in the doorway, a middle-aged couple in neat, decent clothes, Higgs and Mrs Higgs, butler and housekeeper.  

Mrs Marko-Xavier is chattering.  "I'll lend you Gillray to get the old place sorted out.  He'll manage everything.  In fact, he's already started.  _And_ Cherry has booked you in at the top therapy clinic.  It's in Hampstead, I'm glad to say, you can start there tomorrow.  _And_ I've brought you a present.  Raven, darling!"  She sweeps across the hall to hug the young woman.  

Erik looks to Charles, who shrugs.  

Gillray approaches and says, "We're brought dining- and kitchenware along with some furniture, though the best we've left in storage until the work is over.  We've contacted the utilities and there are men here to get things in order.  You should have water and electricity in a week.  The telephone line will take a few months.  We've brought men to quote for central heating.  There's a couple of architects, too, men we've worked with before who can give us ideas and estimates for the necessary adaptations.  May I bring them in?"

Erik looks down at Charles again, knowing Charles can read his expression and his feelings very well.  

"Just give us a moment.  Thank you."  They retreat into a disused room and Erik closes the door.  

Charles looks slightly apologetic, mostly impatient.  "She's just trying to help."

"It's high-handed.  She should have consulted us - you - first."

"She needed to see me."  

"Of course she did.  But she hasn't come alone.  We know nothing about these people…"

Charles looks amused.  "My mother and her staff?  I have some sketchy knowledge."

"That's not what I meant."

"I imagine the rest have been sent by the utilities."

"This is our place and our work to do.  It's bad enough the government giving us orders.  Now she is too."

"My mother, Erik.  Not some stranger or government stooge.  Yes, she has a way of bowling in and throwing money at problems, but at the moment, that's what we need.  _And_ ," as Erik opens his mouth, "as I have mentioned, this is her house.  She can do whatever she wants here."

"Then we leave."

"No!  Why on Earth should we?"

"I don't want us to be dependent on humans for every task.  Our accomplishments should be our own."

Charles is surprised.  "Of course we're going to rely on humans.  Are you planning on growing all our own food?  Sinking a well for water?  I imagine Hank could rig up an electricity generator, except where would we get the fuel from?  Beyond that, were you planning on making our own clothes?  Growing the cotton, shearing the sheep, spinning the wool, knitting?  And you seemed quite keen on car shopping earlier, nothing about building our own."

"That's not…"

"Growing grapes for wine would also be a problem, maybe we should have gone to the South of France after all, though we could probably manage a hop yard if you want to make your own beer."

"I don't…"

"But somehow, I can't help feeling that humans will be needed somewhere along the way, at the very least to provide the equipment.  Indeed, to make the equipment, to mine for raw materials.  And that's just the basics.  Have you considered medicine?"  He shakes his head.  "There is no living without humans, not at this time.  Not with just the seven of us."

"That's not the same and you know it."  Erik thinks he could enjoy hearing Charles give a biology or genetics lecture to a group of students, but being lectured _to_ is bloody irritating.  

"If we went to the Antipodes, and built our own house, our own town, it wouldn't be us doing the building.  It would be human workers, unless you know far more about construction than you're letting on."

"We would be in charge."

"We _are_ in charge.  Ma is not going to stay and oversee a building project.  She'll be gone by the end of the day.  She's lending us GIllray, _lending_ , not putting him in charge.  He'll do what we tell him.  What you tell him, actually, since I'm not going to be here."

Erik turns away and leans against the wall by the window.  He glowers out at the uninvited workmen and wishes there were a good reason to send them away.  Is it possible he's being unreasonable?  Charles is making sense.  This is exactly what they would have done themselves.  And of course his mother wants to do what she can for him.  _And_ she not only accepts Charles, but she took in Raven.  He will give her credit for that.  

He dislikes privileged people.  Charles is privileged but it doesn't bother Erik, perhaps because Charles is a mutant, or an academic, or perhaps just because he's Charles.  But his mother, she reminds him of the stories he heard on the transports of the high life that the rich were still living in Deutschland, in Osterreich, the whole Drittes Reich, because their money meant they didn't have to worry or care, didn't have to see the pain or the horror.  They were the powerful ones and they let it happen, even wanted it to happen, helped it happen.  

Later he heard of some inmates in the camps who were chosen to do menial work in the homes of the Kommandants and their officers, and spoke of dinner parties going on a hundred yards from the fence.  

She may not be anything like them but it wouldn't be safe to assume so.  Charles can't take a dispassionate view of her, Erik must.  People who love their families can still perform sickening acts.  But he can't possibly tell Charles any of this without gross insult.  

"Erik?"

He unclenches his teeth.  "Are you reading my thoughts?"

"May I?"

"No."

And he can't tell Charles that he had had friends, Karsten and … and… Florian, was it? … and then they weren't allowed to play with the Jew anymore.  And he can't tell him about the way their mothers had looked at him.  Or the mothers of the gentile boys he'd tried to play with in Budapest after his family fled there.  

He turns to Charles.  "I don't like people taking decisions for me.  Besides.  She's taking you away."

"I have to go away, for a while."

"You should be close by."

"We don't know that there is a clinic close by.  And it's not as though she's going to take me to a lousy clinic just so I'm near her.  Check if you want, but I'm sure it's be an excellent place.  And Hampstead is not Scotland, you know.  It's not a long journey."

Erik sighs.  "I know.  I still don't like it."

"I know she can be overwhelming but she's here to help.  And it doesn't really change anything.  This is still our place."

"I thought you said it's hers."  Childish, truculent.  He's embarrassed.  

"I'll see if I can swap her for the Westchester mansion, all right?"  Charles looks exasperated and Erik can't blame him.  Then his expression changes, becoming one of epiphany.  "Is that what you want?  If I make it truly ours?"

It's a nice thought.  He says gently, "Legalities mean nothing.  They can always change the law and take it away from us.  You only keep what you fight for."  He decides to give Charles something.  "But, yes, I think I would feel happier knowing it's yours."

"Ours."

Erik smiles a little.  "Perhaps I did overreact.  I don't like surprises or strangers turning up at my door.  That's all it is.  I know she's not a stranger to you, but I'm not used to having to trust anyone else's judgement.  Give me some time to get to know her.  Besides, I can hardly accuse her of hating mutants."

Charles smiles, his face moved to true happiness.  Something warms and clenches for a moment in Erik's chest and he smiles back because Charles hasn't looked like that since Westchester and Erik wants him to be happy and excited about the future once more.  

Charles wheels himself round towards the door, a jerky seven-point turn.  His happiness dims a little.  Erik acknowledges that he really does need advice and practice.  He has a momentary desire to ruffle Charles' hair as his mother did, but he puts it away.  

Erik opens the door and Mrs Marko-Xavier is standing two feet away, drawn up and haughty.  A false smile matches a bright voice as she says, "Is everything all right, darling?", but she's looking daggers at Erik while she says it.  

He doesn't know what her problem is but his reflex response is to grace her with his most insincere smile and say, "Everything."

Charles gives him a glance and Erik remembers what he just agreed.  He moderates his expression and tells himself why care if she doesn't like him?  It isn't as though she has any power to take Charles away from him, she's a human.  And he is stronger than she can imagine.  But he will at least be polite, for Charles' sake.  

Charles says, "It's fine, Ma, just a consultation.  So, what's this present?"

She looks back at him, the evil eye transmuting into delight.  She reaches out, looks uncertain for a moment and then pats his shoulder.  "Come and see."  She tugs him forward.  

Outside, she gestures triumphantly at a brand new, dark blue Daimler.  

"We picked it up this morning.  Higgs drove it down.  Of course, we'll have to get you your own chauffeur.  Do you like it?"

Erik is aware that there are people whose parents casually buy them cars.  He never expected to like such a person.  Charles looks stunned.  

"Ma.  You can't ...  .  I mean, it's not that ...  .  I just ...  .  We were going to look for something ..."

"Well, now there's one less thing to worry about.  I don't want you to worry, Charles, not about anything.  You just concentrate on getting back on your feet."

Charles flinches but his mother isn't looking.  Erik fights down a desire to hammer her, verbally or magnetically.  She probably spoke without thinking.  Or does she really expect Charles to recover from his paralysis?  

"Ma."  Charles sighs, rubs his forehead.  "I have to accept that that's not going to happen."

She looks back in confusion and then her face turns to horror as she realises what she has said.  "That's not…  Oh, darling, of course I didn't mean…  Well, though, we must have hope.  I just meant you have to concentrate on getting better.  Healing."

Charles is looking at the ground.  "My wound will heal.  As for the rest, there's a limit on the amount of better I'm going to get."

She looks away and pats his shoulder faintly.  "Whatever you can, darling.  We must hope.  You never know."  She pats a little bit more, not looking, then pulls herself together, smiles and claps her hands.  "Let's get the workmen in.  Gillray."  She turns away and gestures to the man.  Erik squeezes Charles' shoulder, strokes his neck with his ring and little fingers.  He glares at her back.  Stupid ziege.  

"Erik," mutters Charles.  But his raises his face with a sweet smile and Erik finds himself smiling in return.  He feels the tension ease in Charles' body and his own flows away too.  He moves his hand away from Charles - that's probably enough accidental telepathy - and puts both hands in his jacket pockets.  He moves his gaze to the Daimler and tries hard not to like it.  Or to want a chauffeur.  

As Gillray approaches the workmen, Charles murmurs, "We can still get that Aston Martin."

"Jaguar," says Erik.  Their eyes meet, both glad of a happier clash between them.  Erik feels this will be a good opportunity to get Charles used to him winning.  Then he says, "You'd better scan everyone here to make sure they're not spies."

"I suppose I had," Charles agrees, and leans against his fingers.  

His mother's voice comes from behind.  "Charles?  What are you doing?"

"Necessary precautions," answers Erik, without looking round.  

"I was not addressing you, Mr Lehnsherr."  It is not in itself an unpleasant voice, he supposes.  Just an unwelcome one.  

"Ma, people are trying to kill us.  We'd like to be sure that no-one has come to plant some unpleasant surprises for us."

Raven attempts some diplomacy.  "Mom, why don't you come inside?  We'll talk, I'll tell you everything."

"I'll be in in a moment, Ma."

Erik hears their footsteps walk away and tap on the tiled floor of the hall.  

There is silence for a moment then Charles says, "All clear."

"Good."

"You and Ma aren't going to get on, are you?"

"No."  He looks at his friend.  "I'm sorry if that will be hard for you."

Charles shrugs and sighs.  "Thinking about it, it's not a surprise.  Do you think you can manage civility?"

Erik gives a small smile.  "I'll make the effort."

"Thank you."  He raises his voice.  "Gillray."  The man approaches, trailed by a few others.  Charles tells him, "Mr Lehnsherr will be overseeing the renovations while I'm away.  Please follow his instructions as though they were mine."

"Yes, sir."

Erik takes a moment to size Gillray up and accepts that he seems competent.  

"Erik, why don't you show these gentlemen around?  I'll go and have a word with Ma."

Erik agrees.  They go their separate ways.  


	27. Which is maternal

**Althea**

It's quite ridiculous, being a mother.  The senseless emotions that one sometimes feels.  She knows it's not her fault that Charles is hurt, and yet the guilt worms in with the other feelings.  She's his mother.  She should have found him, protected him.  If only she had kept him close, kept an eye on him.  If only she had been there.  

Foolish.  He's a grown man.  Why does she feel that she should have kept him from harm?  And now all she can do is try to make him comfortable.  All the money she can spend on him is a paltry offering compared with what he's lost.  

As they roll up the drive to Redbearn, she finds it strange that he should come here.  It is his childhood home but why not London?  Or back to Oxford?  These friends he mentioned, she supposes.  But why does Charles have to look after them?  Surely they should be looking after him.  

She thought she had composed herself, but seeing him like that, watching him roll himself forward ...  .  She hopes his barriers are strong because she can't stifle the horror and the pain, can't block it away.  She takes a deep breath and does the best she can.  Her boy, oh her poor crippled boy!

He introduces one of his new friends.  She dislikes the man on sight.  He has an air of arrogance and an unfriendly expression, and the way he stands by Charles, there's something rather possessive about it.  That troubles her.  And she wonders where he was when her son was hurt?  Althea hopes the other 'friends' aren't like this one.  Well, now she's here, she'll be able to deal with them.  

She is frustrated as Charles takes a moment to shake hands with Gillray, and to greet Pevensey and the Higgses.  She wants to tell him what she's organised but supposes it's nice that his manners extend even to servants.  That will have been Mrs Cliffe, she supposes.  At last she can explain about Gillray, and the clinic, but then her daughter comes into the hall.  

"Raven, darling!"  She runs to give her a hug.  It's a little tighter than normal, but if she'd tried to hug Charles, she wouldn't have let go and she'd have started blubbing, and that would never do.  Raven hugs her back just as hard and they stay like that for a moment.  

She steps back and looks into Raven's eyes.  No point in looking at the rest of her to see how she is.  Raven's flawless mask never has tired skin or lines of grief.  The eyes, at least, carry something.  

"How are you, darling?"

"I'm fine, Mom.  It's been wonderful and kinda horrible.  I can't begin to tell you."

"We'll sit down soon and have some tea and you can tell me all about it.  Mrs Higgs," she half-turns and flutters a hand, "set up the morning salon for tea."

"Yes, ma'am."

Althea turns back and holds her daughter's hands.  "Are you really all right?  Charles would have said if you weren't.  I can't imagine how you were drawn into this mess, how you could put yourselves in such danger -"

"Mom…"

"- at least one of you is all right and we'll find a way to make Charles better, there are some very clever men around the place, you know, they'll be able to -"

"Mom…"

"- do something I'm sure, but to throw your lives over in such a way, to rush into danger and, and, and _revelation_ , I just don't understand…"

"MOM!"  Raven squeezes her hands and shakes them gently.  "Come on.  Let's go have some tea and we'll explain everything."

"Yes.  No, that's best.  Oh, my present.  You must see my present, I haven't shown Charles…"  She turns around and finds Charles and his 'friend' have disappeared.  

"Gillray?"

"Professor Xavier and Mr Lehnsherr and just discussing matters, ma'am."  He indicates what used to be the jade drawing room.  

Althea is quite put out and makes for the door.  Raven takes her hand.  "Mom.  Give them a moment.  Charles and Erik, they're good friends and ...  .  Just, if there's a problem, or they want to plan something, let them sort it out."

This doesn't sound good at all to Althea.  She stares at the closed door, hearing very faintly the rhythm of voices behind it.  That's Charles, lecturing.  She feels a whisper of relief, perhaps he hasn't changed so much.  Lehnsherr doesn't seem to say much.  

The door opens.  She looks suspiciously at Lehnsherr but talks to Charles brightly.  "Is everything all right, darling?"

"Everything," answers Lehnsherr, with the rudest smile she's ever seen.  

Charles tries to smooth things over and reminds her of her present.  Yes!  That will please him.  That will show him who he can rely on.  She reaches automatically to take his hand but the angle is wrong so she settles for patting his shoulder.  

She proudly shows him the car that they bought last night.  He is splendidly surprised and she tries to explain to him.  She knows he doesn't like her buying things for him, ever since he grew up, but what does he expect, on a mere academic's salary, and when he'll barely touch the capital that Carl left him?

So she tells him to concentrate on getting well except language has become a minefield.  She feels awful, stupid, and Lehnsherr's expression doesn't help, though she supposes she should be glad he's protective of Charles, but he shouldn't judge her!  She's his mother.  Charles's mother.  And she's just bought him a car.  

She tries to get the men started on ...  whatever such people do but that Lehnsherr gets in the way.  Curse the man.  Why won't he give her some time alone with Charles? Raven tries to draw her away and after a moment she goes.  She wants to know what on Earth has been happening, and what exactly is between this man and her son.  

\---------------

The Higgses have managed to make the morning salon somewhat presentable.  At least, it's better than the halls they walk down and the rooms they pass.  The house is in no state for anyone to live here, though.  She'll take Charles and Raven with her to the hotel tonight.  Hard to believe they've actually stayed a night here.  She supposes she'd better take their friends too, one wouldn't leave a dog in this place.  

They sit on a sofa and Althea says, "Tell me everything."  And Raven does.  After a few minutes Charles comes in but he is mostly silent, unusual for him.  

At first, the tale makes sense.  Althea can see how Charles could get drawn into the situation, particularly with a woman asking.  But then she's shocked, truly shocked by the casual way they revealed themselves to the CIA.  

"Just like that?  You just told them?  Just showed them?  Just … just …"

Charles says, "They needed to know.  Otherwise they would have dismissed Moira's account out of hand.  It was the only way we could get through to them.  If there had been another way, believe me, Ma, we'd have taken it.  There's no point second-guessing it now."

"But who knows what they would have done?"

"They didn't do anything.  They helped us.  We would never have found Shaw, or Erik, or any of the others if we hadn't been able to work with the CIA."

That doesn't seem like a bad thing to Althea but she says, "Well.  What happened then?"

Raven continues.  As she speaks, Althea becomes more and more unhappy with the situation.  These other mutants sound terribly strong and destructive.  And while Raven makes it sound as though Charles is the important one, Althea can tell her children are the most vulnerable ones.  She can't help wondering how many of these others are injured like her boy.  

She's also worried by the way Raven talks about the men, Hank and Erik.  It's subtle and Althea wouldn't challenge her about it in front of Charles - he's a darling but he is a man, after all - but there's a coyness about each of them in different nuances.  One would be understandable, but both?  Has her daughter succumbed to the sixties?  One hears about goings-on in America and even in England it seems to be worsening, not like when she was a girl.  

Eventually, Raven's tale brings them to the present.  Althea waits.  Because as Raven told the story, there is one huge omission.  One moment Charles was sturdily on his own feet, the next he is in hospital.  No explanation.  So she fixes her children with a cold expression and waits.  

Raven looks blankly at her for a moment, then looks down to study the teacups.  Charles is sipping his tea and staring out of the window.  Then he puts down his cup and says, "I haven't had breakfast yet.  Should we …?"

"Charles!"

"Oh, yes.  How I was injured.  Yes."  He looks down.  "Well, I was hit by a stray bullet on the beach."

"And who was firing bullets?"

"Moira.  And one ricocheted and hit me.  It was no-one's fault."

"I didn't suggest it was."  But now she thinks it was and she _hates_ it when they keep secrets from her.  She wonders who they are protecting and a nasty suspicion presents itself.  

She shakes her head.  "I think you've both gone mad.  Quite mad, I can't explain it any other way.  To expose yourselves …"

Raven interrupts, "We saved the world from nuclear war.  Did you miss that part?"

"That's beside the point."

"What?!"

Charles says, "I think it's quite a strong point, Ma."

Althea sighs impatiently.  "Of course I'm proud of you.  Obviously it's better for us not to have a nuclear war.  But couldn't you have done it in a less, a less spectacular fashion?"  They seem lost for words so she presses her advantage.  "And Raven, Raven, darling, what were you thinking?  Revealing yourself to your friends?  I'm not surprised Diane was scared."

"Aren't you?"  Her voice is husky.  

"Ma…"

"No," says Althea, "I'm not.  Flaunting yourself like that to Charles' colleagues, to the _Prime Minister_."

"Ma…"

"Flaunting myself?"

"I raised you to be properly modest…"

"Modest!  Modest?  You raised me to be ashamed, you raised me to hate myself!"

"That's ridiculous."

"What is wrong with me?"  She stretches out her arms and changes to her true form.  Naked!  "Am I that ugly to you?"  She is visible _from the window!_ Althea is on her feet but Raven continues.  "Why should I be ashamed of what I am? Why should I cower and hide?"

She rushes to Raven, grabs her, drags her away.  "Because …"

Raven snatches her arm away.  "I am beautiful!  I am proud!  I am not going to lie to my friends anymore, and my true friends, my true _family_ , the people who really care about me, will accept me just as I am.  If you can't, too bad.  That's your loss.  I've found people who will."

She storms out of the room _as she is!_   Althea is so shocked, she forgets to breathe.  Raven slams the door and Althea stares at it, her ears straining for the shouts, the oaths, sounds of the hue and cry.  

Charles' voice comes softly.  "It's all right.  She changed back outside.  She's not mad."  Althea can't agree.  "No, Ma.  She's not.  She's just, just not afraid anymore.  She's tired, I think, of being afraid." 

"She should be afraid.  Charles, do you know, do either of you know, do either of you understand what they will do to you?"

"Ma…"

"Do you know what scientists did or tried to do to win the war?  Do you know what they try to do now to defeat the Soviets?  They won't leave you alone, Charles, they won't let you follow your own agenda.  I can't bear to think of you both locked in some laboratory being studied.  Having tests run on you.  Being disse … di … " she struggles to complete the word, takes a deep breath, "being dissected.  When I couldn't find you…"  She fights to hold on to control.  

His voice is soft.  "Ma.  I'm so sorry."

She hears a soft, strange noise and her heart cracks, her mind cries out as she realises it is the sound of him wheeling towards her.  He takes her hand.  He sends her love and comfort.  She cannot hold back her pain, feels ashamed of inflicting it on him.  It rocks him but he holds on.  He wraps his love around her and shares her pain.  They don't look at each other.  They do squeeze each other's hand.  

After a minute he says in a thick voice, "I know you don't like Erik, but you'll be surprised how much you agree on."


	28. Wherein Raven is free

**Raven**

After slamming the door, she takes a moment to get a grip.  She forces herself back into her blonde form, surprised at how hard it is.  She doesn't want to wear it.  

She wavers.  Does she want to be alone or to find the others?  Erik.  She goes to find Erik.  

She hears the others in the kitchen, having breakfast.  She pops her head in but he isn't there.  

Alex asks, "Hey, what's going on?"

"There are people all over the place," says Angel.  "Hank's gone to hide in his room."

"Mom bought workmen to start to fix the place up.  And yes, there'll be central heating."

There are cheers and she quickly says, "Where's Erik?"

They shrug.  Gus says, "We heard them moving around earlier.  Maybe they went outside."

Outside, the autumn air cools her anger but the overcast sky depresses her mood.  She wanders the paths until she hears men's voices near the Dower House.  She approaches and pauses, now unsure of herself.  

She always thought of Erik as separate from humanity, fitting only with his brother and sister mutants.  As she watches the men, though, there is no disconnection.  He fits.  They are a group of serious men, consulting, making plans, two of them holding clipboards, noting, sketching.  They make straight, clear gestures, listen, speak, nod.  

After a few minutes they seem satisfied and walk back along the path towards her.  She smiles uncertainly when Erik notices her but he smiles more warmly and she feels better.  

Gillray tips his hat to her.  "Miss Raven."

"Mr Gillray."

"Raven," says Erik, "is there a problem?"

"No.  Yes.  I… Can I talk to you?"

"Of course."  He turns to Gillray.  "I'll meet you back at the house."

"Yes, sir."

The workmen walk on.  Erik and Raven follow slowly.  A breeze stirs to life.  The clouds start to lighten.  "It's Mom.  I guess I knew she'd react this way.  I didn't think it would hurt this much.  I've changed and now I wonder … I wonder if I ever saw clearly what she thinks of me."

Erik nods.  

"And I feel, no, I know I'm being unfair because she took me into her home and she never treated me badly but she's always wanted me to be … an ordinary human girl.  She's always tried to make me an ordinary human girl and I thought that's what I wanted to be but I don't.  I don't.  I never did, well, sometimes.  Often.  But not, not inside my family.  Outside, yes, to make things easier, but not … Not when it was just the three of us.  And now I don't want to be that at all.  I know, I know, I have to but…"

"Change."

"What?"  She stops walking.  

"Change.  Now.  Here, in the open.  Be yourself."

"What?  No, I can't.  Someone, someone might see."

"So?  Let them."

Raven stares then slowly starts to smile.  Can she?  Why not?  She looks around.  He doesn't bother, just looks at her, brows raised.  

She changes.  Out in the open air, she's naked and truly herself.  He smiles at her and she laughs aloud.  She steps back, stretches her arms out wide and twirls around.  

When she looks at him again, he's smiling even more broadly, sharing in her delight.  "Never fear to be yourself.  We are … circumspect only until we are ready to fight.  But among your true family, never hide."

"I won't."

He gestures towards the path and they continue walking.  She fiddles with her hair, touches her cheek.  She had thought, for just a moment when he raised his hand, that he was going to take hers.  She wonders about taking his but doesn't quite know how.  

When they near the house, she changes back again but it doesn't feel like a submission this time, just a smokescreen, and she knows that there's one person who will always see her truly.  


	29. Wherein they are all introduced

**Althea**

They are not what she was expecting.  Charles seems to have collected an eclectic group and she suspects that some of them are here to hang on the coat-tails of a rich man.  The Summers boy, she thinks, and possibly Lehnsherr, except that he didn't seem delighted by the Daimler.  She hopes he's not one of those dreadful communists who wants everyone to be poor.  

The Irish boy seems nice.  Very young.  He really shouldn't have been caught up in these events at his age.  She has yet to meet 'Hank', not a name she likes, a horrible corruption of Henry, Hal is much more pleasant, but there you are.  As for Miss Salvadore, she had better not be hearing wedding bells because Althea will fight against that to the death.  

She does accept, though, that they are all making an effort in her presence.  They greet her politely, though somewhat over-familiarly, but that's just the American manner and she got used to it when she was living over there.  They make some attempt at standing straight, something a lot of young people these days seem to have trouble with and slouching is so ugly.  Their clothes leave a lot to be desired and what Miss Salvadore was thinking when she brought that outfit, well.  Perhaps she'll understand better if she gets to know them.  

They sit in the long hall around one of the tables, which the servants have cleaned.  To Althea's great relief, Raven is herself again and Lehnsherr is elsewhere, still finalising matters with Gillray and Pevensey.  Althea pulls her cigarette case and lighter out of her bag.  She notices that Charles and Raven, on either side of her, are staring at the case so she offers them one.  

Charles' fingers flex and to her surprise he says, "Uh, no.  Thank you."  He doesn't take his eyes off the cigarettes.  

"Are you sure?"  She holds the case out to Raven who also painfully refuses.  

"We quit," says Raven.  

"Whatever for?"

Charles drags his eyes to hers.  "Dr Michaels advised it.  For my continuing health."

Althea turns to the doctor in wonderment.  "I always heard that they were good for the lungs."

"Um, there's a growing body of research that shows it's actually bad for them, for the whole bronchial system and the heart.  Considering that the health challenges of a wheelchair include less exercise for the lungs and heart, it seemed a good idea to remove any other, um, obstacles to healthy function."

"There was that report earlier in the year," says Charles, "do you remember, by the Royal College of Physicians?  We had intended to give up following that, but it, uh, isn't the easiest thing to do."  He casts another long glance at her cigarette case

It sounds very dubious to Althea.  She isn't sure about Dr Michaels.  As a hospital doctor he must be a man of reasonable intelligence, capable, cool-headed in a crisis, with a certain compassion for his fellow man.  It seems rather unlikely that he'd walk away from his life to follow Charles.  He gives the impression of being utterly inoffensive but she wonders.  Even as she studies him now, he does his best to look like a bemused puppy in glasses.  

"Mom, stop glaring at Gus."  

Althea turns to Raven.  

Her daughter says, "He's doing what's best for Charles."

"Certainly.  If that's what he thinks is best."  She resolves to confirm all this with Gerald.  "So why did you give up?"  She asks her daughter.  

Raven shrugs.  "Solidarity.  At least we could go through that together."

Charles smiles at her.  "There's not many sisters who'd suffer that for their brother."

She shrugs.  "It's not that much in comparison."

"Even so."  He reaches across and they squeeze hands.  

Althea approves of this at least.  "That's very sweet of you."  She pats their hands.  "Don't expect me to do the same."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She lights up and then, a concession to Charles, she offers the case to his 'friends'.  They all refuse.  She supposes that's very nice of them, since they must be doing it for her son.  She decides to put more of an effort into getting to know them.  

"So."  She looks around them.  "You're all mutants."

They answer with a mix of nervousness and defiance.  

"It's nice that you should have met up.  We thought that Charles and Raven couldn't be the only ones."

Young Cassidy speaks up, "It was the Professor who found us."

She beams.  "Charles was always so clever."

He's embarrassed, of course, and says, "Actually, it was thanks to Hank that we could do it.  He'd designed a machine for the CIA to try to boost brainwaves to allow ordinary humans telepathy.  One of their Cold War programs.  It didn't work for them but it did wonders for me."

"Where is Dr McCoy?"

"He's keeping out of the way with all the strangers around.  He now has a pronounced physical mutancy."

"I think he's shaving," says Cassidy.  

"Shaving?" asks Althea.  

Charles says, "He has fur.  If he shaves it and uses theatrical make-up, he can pass as, as an unusual human.  I'm afraid he'll have to do that as long as the workmen are in."

"Which will be about four months," says Lehnsherr from the doorway.  "Though that does include a break for Christmas.  He won't be free of the necessity until the end of February, I'm afraid."

"Poor Hank," says Miss Salvadore.  

Lehnsherr sits.  Althea does not offer him a cigarette.  

"His time will come," says Charles.  

"It will," agrees Lehnsherr.  Their eyes meet and Althea realises there is some sort of conflict there.  Good.  Perhaps he won't be the problem she feared.  

There is a knock at the door.  She and Charles both say, "Come in."

It is Gillray and Pevensey.  "Ma'am," says Gillray.  "We've been over the house and grounds with Mr Lehnsherr and we have a fair idea of what needs to be done.  Hewitt and Fotheringay will submit plans by Friday for us to choose from."

"Excellent."

Charles looks between Gillray and Lehnsherr.  "And the rest of the work can start straight away?"

Lehnsherr answers, "They can start some outside work.  But with the remodelling to the house, depending where the lifts are going to be, it will be best to wait for the final plans before starting anything."

Althea puts her plan into action.  "That means you won't be able to live here for a while.  You had better come and live with me."

"Are you sure?" asks Charles.  

"No," says Lehnsherr.  

She pats Charles' hand.  "Of course I'm sure, darling.  Mr Lehnsherr, this place is uninhabitable.  It's filthy, it's freezing, and very soon it will be covered in dust and rubble.  If you wish to camp here to oversee the men, that is your choice.  Charles won't be here, he's going to the Halverstone Clinic.  If the rest of you would like to come and stay until Redbearn is ready for you, you can have warm beds, hot meals and new clothes.  Also, you'll be in London rather than out here in the country.  I'm told young people find a lot to do there, though some of the stories, still, it isn't as though parties couldn't get rather daring in the past but then it was kept behind closed doors and people had some discretion, for the most part at least, it doesn't do to pretend that adults always behaved themselves, or that the modern way is somehow more immoral but there does seem to be a failing of…"

"Ma."  

She focuses on Charles.  

"Putting aside the social history of British debauchery, it's a generous offer."  The young people do look tempted but hesitant.  Their eyes flick to Lehnsherr.  Charles turns to him too.  Their expressions move, the only sign of the conversation.  She supposes it's better than fighting in front of the children.  Lehnsherr's expression relaxes.  He gestures gracefully and Charles turns back to Althea.  "We accept."

It may not have caused the division she hoped for, but she's got her way and that always makes Althea happy.  

\---------------

The young people are all very impressed by the Savoy, where Althea is staying.  

"Of course, we'll take a house in Hampstead until March, to be near the clinic," she says.  "Pevensey is arranging it.  I let dear Ruth have our house for the winter and it would be rather awkward to ask her to leave just now, besides Belgravia is too far for regular visits.  But this will do for the next few days.  Once you've all changed, of course."

They look at each other.  "Changed what?"  Asks Summers.  

"Your clothes," she says, surprised.  

Lehnsherr says, "There's a dress code."

"A dress code?" says the boy.  

"I'm afraid so," says the Professor.  "Don't worry, there are lots of clothes shops near here."

The children look rather unsure, for some reason.  Oh, of course.  "Raven, dear, just tell them to charge my account at the Savoy.  And ask Pevensey for some pin-money.  That way, you can buy something more to your tastes as well."  Then she looks at Angel and says, "Well.  Possibly."

"We'll go to Carnaby Street," says Raven.  "As well as Jermyn Street, of course, Mom," forestalling Althea's objections.  

Mr Lehnsherr looks at the Professor.  "Saville Row?"

"I can never be bothered with all that **."**

 **"** Try."

The man has good dress sense.  At least that's one area where he could safely influence Charles.  It confirms her suspicions, though.  Expensive tastes and someone else to pay for them, that's why he's here.  She'll have to talk to Charles.  

Dr Michaels shows some sign of delicacy with awkward reluctance to take their money.  She warms to him.  Raven takes his arm and steers him out of the door, the others trotting after them.  She narrows her eyes.  Lehnsherr can't even be bothered to push Charles, forcing him to roll himself.  

Charles.  Her throat tightens.  Sometimes she can pretend.  She can tell herself he's just sitting down.  Until he moves.  On the train, she actually forgot as they sat and chatted.  And she thinks perhaps he did too.  And then they had to get off.  And Lehnsherr, Lehnsherr did as little as possible to help.  She feels such bitterness she might choke.  Who is he to still have his feet under him?  Why isn't he the one who's damaged?

It gives her one more thing to do.  She needs to talk to Liliane.  She has to arrange that telephone call, Charles asked her, such a dear man, always thoughtful of others.  And now she wants to talk to the Home Secretary.  Charles is too trusting, too determined to see the best in people.  Althea wants to know the truth.  


	30. The clinic

**Charles**

It looks quite a nice place.  He supposes.  It's the fault of the weather that the building looks drab and uninviting.  It's been low clouds and freckling rain since he woke and that hasn't helped his mood.  

Best to get on with it.  Dr Michaels says it will give him much more freedom and confidence.  That he'll learn how best to look after himself.  The last few nights have been troublesome, tiring, and the mornings have found him weary and aching.  There have been no more back rubs and his muscles are too tight.  The clinic will teach him the best ways to cope.  

Absolutely.  This is for the best.

He'd give anything to be a thousand miles away.  He wants to be in some cheap hotel with Erik, on the trail of a new mutant, arguing over a chess board.  

And while he's fantasizing, he'll give the room a double bed, no more twins.  

He sighs.  Erik is on one side of him, Michaels on the other.  Raven and Ma are a few steps ahead, walking to the door.  No steps up to the door, thankfully.  That would be the ultimate slap in the face.  It's newly built and all on one level, stretching away into the grounds.  The door is open and Raven and Ma are standing with a man in a suit.  Charles' stomach twists and he berates himself.  Why dread this?  It will help him.  It's a good thing.  

It feels as though he's going to the gallows.

The man steps forward.  "Professor Xavier?  I'm Doctor Richard Halverstone."  They shake hands.

Ma says, "Richard is a friend of Gerald's.  Gerald recommends him unreservedly."

"Do come in," says Halverstone.

Charles nods but doesn't move.  He thinks, absurdly, that to enter the clinic is to accept his paralysis.  He finds that, despite what he said to Ma, he isn't ready to do that.  It gnaws at him but he can't see a way out.

He smiles up at Halverstone and, with an act of will, puts his hands to his wheels and moves forward.

He thinks to Erik, _I wonder if this is how Odysseus and Dante felt, at the entrance to the Underworld._

_They found the way out again.  You will too._

He nods.  _Perhaps you can play Theseus, if I need rescuing._ His lips twitch as he imagines Erik as Beatrice.

_Beatrice!_

Charles tries not to laugh out loud.  Best if Halverstone doesn't think he's mad as well as crippled.

The decor isn't institutional, more like a wealthy house but without the occasional tables.  It doesn't mask the purpose of the place, though.  It isn't lived in and no-one is here by choice.

It's the minds that affect him most, of course.  In the background, the staff, a beige flock of minds with ordinary thoughts and feelings - placid, bored, frustrated, kind, distant, disdainful, tired.  The patients are an aching foreground of disquieting shapes and bruising colours.  

He feels a mind like a hot coal of angry persistence in one direction; there is steel determination fighting grief in another.  A ghostly wisp, a bilious bitterness, a wailing shroud, these are the shadows he'll be sharing the next few months with.  He tries not to think what could become of him here - he has no helmet to block out the impact.  Will his shields be enough?

In Dr Halverstone's office, Charles and Ma sit in front of Halverstone's desk, while Michaels and Raven sit behind and Erik stands against a wall.  Charles and Michaels give Halverstone as much background and medical detail as they can.  In turn, he explains to them the practices and therapies they'll be using.  

"Three months should be sufficient," says Halverstone, "with a week at home for Christmas, if you're progressing well."

"Does it need to take that long?"  asks Charles, feeling the place closing in on him.  "None of it seems complicated."

"You'll find it very tiring at first, and part of it is simply building up your muscles, getting them used to working in a different way.  That takes time.  But there's no fixed timeframe.  We'll throw you out when we know you're ready."

"I look forward to it."

"Good.  Some patients find leaving harder than arriving.  Now, there is some physiotherapy that you'll need to do daily when will you leave and you'll need assistance.  I take it you'll be hiring a qualified nurse as your primary carer?  Or will Dr Michaels take the position?"

"Dr Michaels needs to return to his position in New York."  A quick stab of disappointment from Michaels' distracts Charles for a moment.  

Erik asks, "Is it necessary to have a qualified nurse or can anyone learn what needs to be done?"

"Oh certainly, we can teach you.  It's quite common for a spouse or parent to be the primary carer.  Just keep in touch with the district nurse and you should be fine."

"How about a sister?" Asks Raven.  

Charles turns to her in gratitude.  She smiles and gives him a hug.  

"We'll both learn," says Erik, surprising Charles.  

"Erik?"

"It will give us more flexibility," he says.  

Charles is warmed.  He shouldn't hope, he tells himself, it doesn't mean Erik is staying but his common sense is trampled by a herd of wilder emotions.  "Thank you."  

Erik shrugs.  

Charles does his best to ignore his mother's forceful disapproval.  He's not sure why she dislikes Erik so much.  Resentment, suspicion and dislike are all twined together.  He's resigned for now and she can't spoil this one bright spot in the darkness.

"Uh," says Michaels, "I don't mind being trained too, if that'll help.  Anyway, it would probably be professionally useful too.  I'd like to learn about the water therapy.  And then I could help out if you needed me to.  Or not, if…"

Erik narrows his eyes at Gus but Charles turns back to Halverstone and asks, "Can you train three people?"

"The more the merrier.  Well, that's it for now."  He stands.  "Let me give you the tour."  

Ma speaks up.  "Wait.  We haven't talked about treatment."

Charles tenses.  

Halverstone is confused.  "We just…"

"No.  You talked about ways to cope with the present situation.  What about ways for him to recover?"

Charles closes his eyes, opens them again and stares at the floor.  "Ma.  That's not… going to happen."  All right.  She can spoil his mood.

"You mustn't give up, darling."

He can't look at her.  "I'm trying to accept reality."

"No.  You have to fight."

So many emotions surge over him, like waves over stones.  From Ma, grief, pain, defiance; from Raven, pity and confusion; from Erik terrible anger, protectiveness, guilt.  Mixed with his shaky control of his own emotions, his shields are in danger of being dragged down.  Only Michaels and Halverstone are safe havens.  Charles reaches out with his mind and holds fast to Michaels, who, surprised, tries to stay solid and comforting.  

_Erik, please, stop._

Erik is distracted from Ma.  He offers an apology and locks away his anger.  

Charles swallows, breathes and regains control.  "Ma.  If there were any chance, Dr Halverstone would have told us."

Halverstone says, "Every case is different and sometimes people do make progress.  The therapies we offer here will help, if any improvement is possible.  There's research being conducted and if any hope should arise, Professor Xavier will be informed.  Right now the best thing for him is to learn to live as freely as possible."

Charles can feel his mother is unsatisfied.  He hasn't the mettle to deal with her now, he's using it all for himself.  "Let's have that tour."

The common rooms are a dining-room, a drawing-room, a library, carrying on the pretense that this is an ordinary house.  The treatment rooms behind ordinary, panelled doors open to reveal the lie by their clinical furniture and fittings.  The gymnasium has a few people torturously trying to strengthen themselves, driven on by pitiless trainers.  

As they go, Dr Michaels asks lots of questions about the treatments.  Raven asks about leisure time and days out.  Ma chatters away about whatever comes to mind.  Charles can't think of anything to ask.  He concentrates on trying to roll round corners.

The end up at the room that will be his.  It's a decent size with its own bathroom and a host adaptations.  The mirror is lower.  He wouldn't have thought of that.  Metal wallbars seem to be everywhere in the bathroom, which also has a flat floor leading into a large, tiled shower area.  Erik asks about all the adaptations and makes a note so they can be installed at Redbearn.  

The window looks out on the gardens, well, the empty flower beds in between wide, smooth paths.  There are some people sitting outside.  He wonders why, there is a wind and low clouds.  He looks in their minds.  The woman finds the day matches her mood.  The man just needed to be out for a while.  His wife sitting by him, feels helpless and lost.

After a short while, Dr Halverstone gently encourages the others to leave.  

Raven and Ma give him pain-filled hugs.  He wants to hold onto them, forces himself to let go.  

"Anything you need, darling, anything.  Just say."

"We'll visit you every day," says Raven.  

Halverstone says, "Do come the next couple of days but give him some space as well.  He needs a bit of independence.  We'll arrange training sessions, too."

Dr Michaels shakes his hand.  "This is a good place and they know what they're doing.  You'll come on fast here and you'll be home in no time."

Erik leans by the wall, waiting for the others to leave.  

"Mr Lehnsherr?"  Says Ma, frostily.  

"I'd like a moment with Charles."

Ma thinks some poisonous things.  Before she can choose which to voice, Charles says, "Ma, please.  I'd like a private word with Erik.  I'll see you soon."  He takes her hand and kisses it.  

She leans down and kisses his cheek.  "I'll see you tomorrow, darling."

Tomorrow, he thinks.  That's quite a commitment from her, given the people and parties she could be visiting.  It seems paralysis does change everything.  

Only Erik is left.  Charles looks up at him.  Erik goes to a chair and Charles awkwardly turns his chair towards him.  He does look forward to learning better mastery of it.  Yes, concentrate on each individual advantage.  That's helpful.  It helps him ignore the distant despair that is waiting to embrace him.

Erik says, "I'll make sure that one of us is nearby at all times.  If anything happens, if they come here, just call."

"Erik."

"It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you."

Charles nods sadly.  

"There's a park nearby and a library.  It'll do them good to catch up on their reading.  If you can locate those places mentally, you'll always know where to reach for us."  Erik sits forward, elbows on his knees, looking up at Charles slightly.  Charles studies the colour of Erik's eyes and almost misses the next question.  "Do you want us here every day, or do you need time to handle this yourself?"

Charles thinks about this.  He sighs, leans forward himself and their faces are so close.  "Ma will want to come tomorrow so don't get into a fight trying to stop her.  I'm afraid she doesn't like you much as it is."

Erik smiles happily.  "I noticed."

Charles can't help smiling back.  "Erik."

"I'll be civilised."

Charles gazes fondly at him, shakes his head.  He wants to lean forward further, wants to touch Erik's cheek, kiss him gently, only to know he is allowed to.  He feels like Tantalus, so close to what he needs and forbidden it. 

He sighs again and says, "After tomorrow, give me a week.  I'll tell Ma.  Give me a week.  And have an escape route planned, in case I can't take it anymore."

Erik looks at him with compassion.  "You are easily strong enough for this, Charles.  You get yourself ready, we'll get the manor ready.  Look to the future.  This must be more British mutants to find."

Charles doesn't entirely want to look to the future because once the manor is ready, Hank thinks Cerebro will be too.  Erik is right, though.  This is just a necessary interlude.  There are great days coming and Charles has to keep his dream in sight.  He nods.  "You're right.  To the future." 

Erik pats his knee and stands.  "By the way, I may go to the continent for a little while.  I want to deal with my own assets and see if I can get a trace on Frost and the other two.  We need to stand together.  There shouldn't be division between us."

"Yes.  No, it will be better if we can all work together.  It would be interesting to work with another telepath."  At that there is so brief a flash of emotion from Erik that he can't identify it.  Charles dismisses it and fixes his eyes on his friend's.  "But no killing, Erik.  No slaughter, it mustn't be like the attack on the base again.  I can't allow that."

Erik studies him for a moment then nods slightly.  He pulls on his coat and says, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Charles nods and is left alone.  He lays his hand on his knee where Erik's was and tries to hold an optimistic attitude.  He looks around the room again.  It has been made as pleasant and comfortable as can be and, like a hotel room, it is utterly impersonal.  The light from the window is dreary.  He follows his family's minds as they leave, reaching out as far as he can, trying to keep hold among the city babble of minds.

Then he's lost them.  He is alone.  He checks out the minds around him and is not inclined to befriend them.  He suspects that might not even be possible.  The kinder staff still keep themselves distant.  The patients are self-involved, which isn't a surprise.  He gives a very deep sigh.  At least with no-one else around, he doesn't have to wear the cheerful mask.  He slips it off and lets himself ache.


	31. Which concerns ties and telephones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB Oxford bags are a type of baggy trousers.

**Sean**

"Try again."

Sean knows Mr Lehnsherr is being patient with them and he wishes he'd loan some of that patience to him and Alex.  He seems to be all thumbs at the moment.  He loosens the tie, adjusts the length of the two sides - he's got the hang of that at least - and starts again.  

Alex gives a growl of frustration and claws at his tie until it comes loose.  He rips it off and flings it onto to the plush carpet of Mr Lehnsherr's suite.  "Why?"  He howls.  "What the hell is the point?  I already know how to tie a tie, why can't I do it the way I always do it?"

"You look like a school boy.  And anyone judging you on your tie will think that.  Sometimes it will be useful to have them underestimate you but it has to be your choice.  Right now you have no choice.  You cannot make them see you as one of them, you will always be a schoolboy.  If you know five different ways to do this, or even just two, you can turn that to your advantage."

"That's dumb."

"Yes.  But just now, it's how the world works.  Every skill you master is a tool.  It's the same reason you will sit in that library and study, and I don't much care what you read.  Knowledge is choice, possibilities.  Try again."

Alex sighs, picks up the tie and faces the mirror next to Sean.  He mutters himself through the steps while Sean tries to remember if it's over and over and over and round or just over and over and round.  

Dr Michaels, sitting in a chair by the window, says, "Hey, it could be worse.  He could be making you wear an ascot."

Sean and Alex both make faces and Dr Michaels laughs.  "My granddad used to wear an ascot every national holiday.  He said it beat the guys in bow ties every time."

Alex looks at Mr Lehnsherr in the mirror.  "You're going to make us learn a bow tie next, aren't you?"

Mr Lehnsherr just smiles.  

There is a knock at the door.  Mr Lehnsherr lets in Angel and Raven.  They're dressed up to the nines, looking gorgeous, though they always look pretty good to Sean anyway.  He tries not to look at them now.  The way they look all swanked up makes him even more uncomfortable than his own new clothes.  He hopes that some day they'll find mutant girls his age.  

Raven says, "Angel and I are going to sit next to Mom tonight."

"She'll allow that?" Asks Mr Lehnsherr.  

"I think we can throw 'man woman man woman' out tonight.  We need to talk to her."

Angel says, "I'm still not sure about this.  She's doing so much for us already, I don't feel right asking her to bankroll me.  'Specially since she doesn't actually like me."

"She doesn't know you."

"She thinks I'm a whore."

"Not … exactly."

"Great."

Mr Lehnsherr says, "What do you need money for?"  He reaches round Sean from behind, undoes his tie and goes through the knot again slowly.  

Angel says, "I want to learn to be a jeweller."

"Why?"

In the mirror, Sean sees her shrug and give him a strange look.  "Because it's something I'd like to be.  I'd been planning to do it when you guys showed up.  Now I want to give a shot."

Mr Lehnsherr undoes the example knot and turns towards her.  

"In a couple of months, we'll be able to continue with our own plans.  Here or elsewhere, we'll be able to hone our abilities and put them to good use."

Angel raises her chin.  "This _is_ MY plan.  I don't know what's going to happen to _us_ , but I don't want to spend the rest of my life just spitting fire at people.  That doesn't work for me.  I want to be able to do this.  I want to have the choice."

Sean doesn't think Mr Lehnsherr can argue with that and he doesn't.  He nods and says, "I'll give you the money."

Her jaw actually falls.  "You will?"

"These things should stay between us.  There's no need to get humans involved."

"Except in the teaching," mutters the doc.  

"Thank you," breathes Angel.  She gives a brilliant smile.  "That's… wow, that's … Thank you."  She hugs him.  

He smiles.  "I am your brother.  You can ask anything of me."

She grins.  "You'd better watch what you promise."  Then she laughs and claps.  "I'll look for a course in the morning."

He catches her hand and says, "Get some books when it's your turn at the library.  If we have to leave, we leave and you may end up teaching yourself."

"Sure, boss."

Raven says, "We'd better find out if there's anywhere around Oxford that does courses.  I want to go see Heidi too, so we can go down tomorrow if you want."

"Okay."

Mr Lehnsherr says, "That makes it Alex's turn at the library tomorrow."

Sean finishes making his best effort with the knot and offers it to Mr Lehnsherr, who makes a couple of adjustments, then nods his approval.  

"Why me?" Asks Alex.  

"Raven and Angel will be in Oxford.  I need to go away for a few days to make some arrangements.  None of us have managed to prise Hank out of his room.  Sean has an appointment in the morning."

That's news to Sean.  "What appointment?"

Mr Lehnsherr opens his mouth but Raven says, "That's Mom's surprise."  She looks at Mr Lehnsherr.  "Come on, you already whipped one generous act away from her, let this be hers.  She likes doing things for people."

He shrugs.  "Fine."

Alex's knot passes.  As they pull on their jackets, Angel asks, "Has anyone talked to Hank today?"

Sean says, "He's OK."

Mr Lehnsherr shakes his head and Dr Michaels says, "I don't think it's good for him to stay cooped up like this.  I tried to persuade him to come to dinner but he nixed it."

"I'll talk to him in the morning," says Mr Lehnsherr.  

Sean has his own opinion of how well that'll go down.  He doesn't think Hank wants to hear anymore exhortations about how wonderful it is to be a mutant.  He keeps his thoughts to himself and they head off to dinner.  

\---------------

Breakfast.  It's his favourite meal, though it turns out the British have a weird notion of pancakes.  For the past couple of days, lunch has been something grabbed at a cafe as they explore London.  Dinner has been formal in the hotel dining room and Sean got over looking smart in about five minutes.  They've also discovered it's vitally important to keep Mr Lehnsherr and Mrs Marko-X at opposite ends of the table.  Not separating them is an education in how to horribly insult someone in the politest possible way, but it upsets Raven and the rest of them just don't know what to say.  

He piles his plate and goes to sit with Dr Michaels, Raven and Angel.  The women have almost finished.  

"Got enough there?" Asks Angel.  

"He's a growing boy," says Dr Michaels.  

Sean nods, his mouth full.  

"So, Gus," says Raven, "you coming with us to Oxford?"

"I figured I might keep Hank company today, whether or not Lehnsherr can talk him into going out."

"I'll join you," says Sean.  

"No, no, you've got your appointment," says Raven, grinning at him.  

"Okay, seriously, guys, what is this appointment?  It's not," he's been worrying about this, "about school, is it?"

"Well," says Dr Michaels, "some form of education is certainly in your future, if your elders have anything to say about it.  But, no.  Today is not about school."

"More clothes?"

Raven says, "Wait and see.  Eat up and go to Mom's suite at nine thirty."

"Aren't you guys coming too?"

"No.  We're off to Oxford now," says Raven.  "Don't wait up for me, by the way.  I might end up staying over with Heidi."

"I'll probably be back this evening," says Angel, "but don't wait for me for dinner."

At nine thirty, Sean presents himself at Mrs Marko-X's suite.  He smoothes down his shirt and hopes she doesn't want him to wear a tie.  

She sweeps out of the room.  "Sean dear, that's a nice shirt, have you thought of buying something in blue?  It would suit you better than cream."  She chats on about clothes as they go out to the car.  

At some point they segue into accessories, apparently the Professor used to have some Oxford bags, Sean guesses to carry his books in but he doesn't know why a bag would look ridiculous.  Also, it seems that shamefully few people are wearing hats.  Sean gets points for saying he wouldn't mind having a Rat Pack hat.  Then he hopes that that didn't sound like a hint.  He's worked out Mrs M-X likes to give people things and he doesn't want to take advantage.  

He's still not that comfortable being the only one here today.  He wishes Alex or Hank or Doc Michaels was with them.  She doesn't seem to expect him to talk much, though, which is a plus.  In fact, the only time he's said much to her was the first night when he sat next to her at dinner and she asked him all about his family.  Then later in her suite, she asked them about their powers and looked happy when he sang the Professor's praises as a teacher.  

Because she's nice, and the Professor's Mom, he tries to concentrate on what she's saying.  It's a long involved story about people he's never met and he's worried that he's about to meet these people and somehow there will be a test.  That's his best guess about why she wants him with her today.  

They're driving through a part of London he's not yet visited.  The houses are large and fancy and there are lots of little parks dotted amongst them.  They pull up alongside one and get out.  

"This is our house," says Mrs Marko-X, "we lived here when Charles and Raven were old enough.  It's the best place to call from and dear Ruth doesn't mind.  She's out at the moment, the house is empty so you can talk freely."

"Talk to who?"

"To whom, dear."  She turns to smile at him in the sunlight, as Miss Pevensey opens the door.  "Your parents."

\---------------

He's bouncing on the soles of his feet and watching the telephone.  The call is booked for ten a.m.  He's not been thinking about his family much, just when he goes to sleep or in the morning when he goes to the bathroom and there's no-one to race or to shout at to get out, already.  Or sometimes when he sees a British cop with their crazy tall helmets, or when he and Alex were girl-watching through the shop windows while Raven and Angel were cruising Carnaby Street.  

Now he can't wait to hear their voices.  

The telephone rings.  Miss Pevensey answers "Belgravia 2215."  Sean twitches, wanting to take it from her.  Mrs Marko-X pats him on the shoulder and urges him to the chair by the 'phone table.  

Miss Pevensey hands him the receiver.  

"Hello?"

"Sean?"

It's like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.  "Mom!"

"Sean!  It's him, it's him," and then his father's voice, "Sean?"

"Hi, Dad, it's me, I'm okay."

His Mom's voice comes back and imagines them sharing the receiver in the hall of the little house.  "Oh, Seannie, how are you?  Where are you?  We've been so worried, we had the government in and we told them all we could, but…"

Fear grips him.  "They came?  Are you okay?"  It's just like Mr Lehnsherr said.  

"Are _we_ all right?  Sweetheart, you're the one…"

"I'm fine.  The Professor and Mr Lehnsherr are looking after us.  The government are the ones trying to kill us."  He tells them the basics of what happened, pausing to confirm another three minutes when the operator asks.  When he's finished, there's silence.  

"Sean, are you sure?"

"Missiles are hard to mistake, Mom."

His Dad says, "I believe it of the Russkies…"

"Believe it of our guys too, Dad.  Don't tell them anything."

The operator comes on again and Sean asks for another three minutes, feeling kinda bad about it, though he's sure Mrs Marko-X can afford it.  He looks around and can't see her or Miss Pevensey.  They've given him privacy.  

"Mom, Dad, I'm really okay, the Professor's Mom is looking out for us too and she's rich and nice.  She bought me clothes, Church clothes."

"But _where_ are you?"

"London.  For now.  If you want to write, the best place, can you write this down?

"Yes, yes, your father will write it in his notepad, go ahead."

"Redbearn Manor, that's R-e-d-b-e-a-r-n, Lyrham St Bridget," and he spells that too, "Oxfordshire.  I don't know the rest but I think that'll get there.  

"Okay, got it."

"I'll try and call again."  Because he's missing them, he doesn't feel too sappy saying, "Give my love to the others."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine.  I'm gonna get strong, I'm gonna make you proud.  I'll write."  He feels a slight twist in his stomach because he just doesn't know when he'll see them again and on impulse he says, "I love you."

"We love y…"

"Would you like another three minutes?"

He hesitates then sadly says, "No."

After he hangs up the receiver, he stares at the phone then blinks the prickling out of his eyes.  Mr Lehnsherr can talk all he wants about being brothers and sisters but Sean thinks he doesn't have any idea what that means.  He likes his new friends but for a chance to go home, he would walk away from them with just a hearty handshake and a promise to keep in touch.  They're not family.  

His mind tries to come up with a way he could go home.  He really wants to just go, just try going home and seeing what happens.  He wishes he could believe there would be something more for him than a cell in an underground lab at best, a bullet between the eyes at worst.  

He swallows and takes a deep breath.  He's just got to make the best of where he is.  Looking around the black and white tiled floor, the fancy furniture and delicate decoration, he reminds himself that where he is is pretty sweet.  And the people are kind and are doing their best for him.  He takes another deep breath and stands, ready to see if there's something _he_ can do for Mrs Marko-X.  Or, he thinks as he looks into the first room, since she's got a whole bunch of servants doing things for her, maybe he's still got time today to go hang out with Hank.  


	32. Wherein Hank receives pep talks

**Hank**

He looks out into the city-lit night and listens to the people and the traffic, and the voices of the others going down to dinner.  He tries to summon up the balls to go with them.  

The first evening they were here, he went down.  He was feeling confident.  Back at the manor, when Raven had coaxed him down to meet her Mom, Mrs Marko-Xavier had shaken his hand without seeming bothered by its appearance, or his.  The people with her had been taken aback but they had masked it.  When Mr Lehnsherr introduced him to Mr Gillray as his deputy in overseeing the refurbishment, the man had shaken his hand and spoken politely.  He had seen the uncertainty in his eyes, felt through the handshake the slight tension in the man's body.  He'd made allowances and vaguely hoped that as they worked together it might get better.  

He had noticed oblique glances from some others, heard the surprised oaths, but nothing more.  If that was all there would be, he thought he could handle it.  He didn't remember that Mrs Marko-Xavier's people were servants, taught to mask their opinions and watch their words.  

At the hotel, people stared.  They exclaimed about him and his sensitive hearing picked up even the low voices.  'Bizarre', 'malformed', 'twisted', 'Elephant Man', 'Ha, more like Cat Man', each one felt like a little stab.  This, then, was 'Death by a Thousand Cuts'.  He couldn't taste the food Alex and Sean were eulogizing.  He made an excuse and left early, realising too late that walking through the dining-room and corridors alone was far worse than going in a group.  

There was a knock at the door only ten minutes later but he didn't answer.  The Professor spoke in his head, _Hank, let me in._

_Leave me alone._

_Hank…_

_I just want to sleep._ He buried down under the covers and closed his eyes.  

And it turned out it wasn't an excuse, because the next thing he knew it was morning and the Professor was knocking again.  

_Hank.  I do need to talk to you.  I have to go in an hour and I want to talk before I do._

So he let him in.  His fingers twitched, unsure whether to help him roll over the thick carpet…

"I'd appreciate that, actually.  Will you make sure no-one lays shag carpet in the Manor?  Ma might try, she likes it."

"Um, Okay.  Uh, I just woke up.  Do you mind if I…?"  He gestured at the bathroom.  "I'll just be a few minutes."

"Certainly.  Put me by the telephone and I'll order breakfast for you."

Hank went into the bathroom and spent a few minutes freshening up and then trying to figure out what to say, in between wondering why it was necessary to tell a telepath anything.  

"Because," called the Professor, "people don't always know what they think until they think consciously.  And," he continued as Hank came back to the bedroom, "things that can be confused and overbearing in one's head become clearer and less powerful when spoken allowed.  It's amazing how much power speech has.  In some circumstances."

"The talking cure."  Hank sat on the bed, wondering if he ought to be lying on it for their session.  "I didn't know you studied psychology."

"I didn't.  I always thought I didn't need to, though I wonder if I was wrong.  Telepathy can't always tell me much more than the person themself knows.  Hence the need to talk."

"What is there to say?"  Hank twitched his hands helplessly.  

The Professor leaned forward.  "Tell me why you ran away last night."

"My hearing's a lot better than it used to be.  I could hear what they were saying about me."

"Impressive.  We'll have to measure the exact range of your new abilities.  And did you hear what they were saying about me?"

Hank was caught out.  "Uh."

"Or what the rest of us were saying about anything?"

Hank opened and closed his mouth a few times.  "Um."

"You can choose what to focus on, Hank.  It's not going to be easy for either of us.  But we're with friends.  People who are trying to see us for who we really are, who are looking beyond the physical."  He smiled slightly.  "Raven is particularly good at it, which is hardly a surprise.  Erik too.  He meant what he said in the hangar.  To him, looking mutant is a wonderful gift."

Hank barked a laugh.  "He doesn't want to look like this."

"He does.  Believe me.  Hitler said the Jews weren't proper humans, therefore it was fine to kill them.  Erik is taking that to its logical extreme.  If he's not human, it's can't be wrong for him to kill humans.  And, in aid of that, the less human he looks, the more easily humans will turn against him.  

"Hank, people will stare at you for the rest of your life.  The same ones who will keep asking Erik or Ma if there's anything I need when I'm sitting right in front of them.  We will have to face them down every day from now on.  Keep in your head who you are.  If you want to be human, be human."

"But I'm not human," yowled Hank, and he cursed the animal voice.  "No scientific definition of a human involves fur.  Or claws."

"Science can change definitions.  While it's catching up with new genetic discoveries, why don't you try some other sources?  Many people have tried to express a wider definition than 'man is a bipedal, furless, featherless mammal'.  Shakespeare, Sophocles, Proust.  Aristotle, Kant, Hume, Whitman, Gibran.  Kipling had a lot to say about it too."

There was a knock at the door.  

"That'll be your breakfast.  Between London, Oxford and Redbearn, you'll find enough books to help you find a new definition.  You can give me your hypothesis when I'm out of the chokey.  Prison," the Professor added, and Hank realised he must have felt Hank's confusion.  

The waiter brought the breakfast to the table.  The man didn't look at either of them and Hank watched him have a moment's horrified indecision over which of them to ask to sign for the meal.  The Professor looked amused.  The man wavered then, flicking his eyes at oblique angles to them both, he asked, "Dr McCoy?"

"That's me," said Hank.  

The man relaxed and handed him the clipboard, still not meeting his eyes.  

He signed and the waiter left just shy of a run.  

"Enjoy your meal," said the Professor.  "I'll be off."

"Good luck," said Hank.  

"And you.  Remember, you're not alone."

He remembers, but it doesn't always help, because really, he is.  

He spent the day alone, sometimes drawing plans and calculations, sometimes staring into space.  He thought about his family, missed them, worried about them.  He thought, with a violent clench of his heart, that he'll never see them again.  How can he face them like this?  What if they look at him with the same kind of horror or disgust as the waiter, as the people in the restaurant?  He couldn't bear…

He thought, briefly, about ending it.  He dismissed the idea with some regret, and decided to get back to doing something useful.  He started redesigning the Blackbird to take advantage of mutant powers.  He tried to think of ways to make it easier to go in and out of.  Maybe some kind of platform below the bomb bay doors to stand on.  He lost himself in planning.

This evening, Gus spent some time with him and told him about their day.  Hank was kinda envious, if he's honest.  When the doctor mentioned wanting to visit the library at the Science Museum, Hank was deeply torn.  He'd felt enthused enough that when Gus asked him to come down to dinner, he'd almost accepted.  At the last moment, he'd started to panic and he'd felt the beast stir, agitated by his fear, growling.  

He hadn't realised he'd started growling aloud.  Gus looked worried and took a step back, hands raised slightly in a placating gesture.  Hank was surprised, his growling stopped and he noticed the silence, realised what he had done.  He sighed, slumped down onto the bed.  

Gus took a step forward, said, "Um…" and Hank waved him away.  

Hank stared at his feet and felt the awkward pat on his shoulder.  His ears tracked Gus's footsteps across the room and when the door closed gently, he flopped backwards and decided to wrap himself up and sleep again.  

But he can't, so now he's sitting here in the dark behind the net curtains feeling separate from everyone and everything.  It doesn't help knowing he has friends.  None of them understand, not a one.  Not even Raven.  Not even the Professor.  

The Professor.  Hank tries to reclaim the optimism he felt at Redbearn.  He knows that he's still lucky in comparison.  Except.  He thinks about it.  Would he give up his legs, in return for looking normal?  He can't decide.  He falls asleep in the middle of a long cost-benefit calculation.  

\---------------

The next morning, he's past hunger and is lying on the bed feeling weak and miserable.  There is a knock at the door.  He ignores it.  

The lock tumbles by itself.  Correction, by magnetism.  Hank groans and hides his head under his pillow.  

He can hear Mr Lehnsherr approach the bed.  He says nothing.  Pretending to be asleep is not going to work but it will buy him a few more seconds.  

The bed dips and the pillow lifts.  

Hank keeps his eyes shut and essays a snore.  He feels seven again, but a Lehnsherr pep talk can't be a good thing.  

"When was the last time you washed?"

He doesn't answer.  

"You stink."

Hank is afraid this might be true.  

"Fine."

The bed lifts and Hank tracks footsteps into the bathroom.  The shower starts.  Good luck getting me in there, he thinks.  

He barely notices himself rising off the bed.  His eyes snap open.  He has to hand it to Mr Lehnsherr, he has a smooth action.  It doesn't stop him glaring at the man as he floats towards the bathroom.  "Put.  Me.  Down."

"As you wish."

He knows it was a mistake a split second before Lehnsherr drops him.  "OW!"  He lunges up, growling, and finds himself levitating again, limbs waving foolishly.  He makes himself stop, takes a deep breath to contain himself, and glares again.  He swears he sees amusement in the man's eyes, a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he holds Hank with one hand half-outstretched.  

It's a stand-off and Hank caves easily.  He nods without meeting Lehnsherr's eyes.  "I could probably do with a wash."

He is lowered to the floor.  Without his permission, his eyes flick a look at Lehnsherr as he passes.  Definitely amusement.  

He takes a look in the mirror and recoils.  His make-up is mouldering; it looks like an awful skin disease _on_ _top_ of everything else.  

It takes a long time to remove the make-up, get clean, shave and reapply an ordinary skin-colour.  When he comes out of the bathroom in a towel, Lehnsherr is sitting on the chair, reading a paper.  Clothes are laid out on the bed, breakfast on the table.  

"I have to go to Europe, I'll be away for a few days.  I expect you to take your turn watching over Charles.  Alex is there today, and today you will go to the Science Museum with Michaels to get used to being out."

Hank looks at the clothes, looks at Lehnsherr, runs a conversation through his head which ends with him being magnetically carried through the hotel and the streets, asks himself if Lehnsherr would really do that and swiftly answers 'yes'.  He sighs and picks up the clothes.  

As Lehnsherr turns to leave he taps a package on the desk.  "Charles wanted you to have these."  He leaves without a goodbye, but Hank figures that's just Lehnsherr.  

The wrapping is a bookshop bag.  Inside are three books - The Complete Works of Shakespeare, Kant's Metaphysics of Morals and Kipling's poems.  The last has a bookmark in it.  He opens it and reads,

 

IF you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

 

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;  
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;  
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster  
And treat those two impostors just the same;  
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken  
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,  
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,  
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings  
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,  
And lose, and start again at your beginnings  
And never breathe a word about your loss;  
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew  
To serve your turn long after they are gone,  
And so hold on when there is nothing in you  
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,  
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,  
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,  
If all men count with you, but none too much;  
If you can fill the unforgiving minute  
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,  
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,  
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : If- by Rudyard Kipling is not mine. It is still under copyright. I am not making any money from using it.


	33. Which stars Heidi

**Heidi**

**A few days earlier**

Heidi finds Diane waiting outside Dr Ryan's office.  She is fidgeting and darting looks all around.  She shoots to her feet when she sees Heidi, and cranes to see behind her.  

"Diane?"

"Where is it?"

Heidi keeps her voice level.  "She.  Raven, our friend, is a she."

Diane says, "I have no idea what it is.  It's no friend of mine."

"Don't say that."

"It isn't Raven.  How could you be fooled by it?  We have to find the real Raven, if she's even still alive, and help her."

"How could that be anyone but Raven?  Her memories, her voice, her manner.  It was her."

"They can make themselves seem like anyone."

Heidi pauses and replays that sentence.  It doesn't make any more sense so she asks, "Who?"

"The body-snatchers."

"The … the what?"

"You know, pods that grow into replicas of people…"

"Oh, no.  No, no, no.  You're not serious."

Diane shakes her head, waves her hands.  "All right, I know that was just a film, but something like that, obviously.  Can't you see?  Think about it."

Diane is beseeching her, so Heidi thinks it over.  "On the basis that Raven, all right, that the person we met could," she glances around - a student at the end of the corridor, more offices around - she lowers her voice even further and edges closer, "could do what she could do, what she told us makes as much sense as what you're saying.  I mean, someone in that … with that physical condition, would have to hide and would have the means to do so.  That follows logically.  It makes more sense than the first victim in a plan to invade Earth is Raven."

"Whose brother is a brilliant geneticist."

"Then why wouldn't they just take him over, if they can absorb personalities and memories?"

Diane opens her mouth and pauses.  "Maybe … they can't copy his level of intelligence.  Anyway, I don't understand why you're trying to defend it."  Diane's arms are folded, her face is hostile.  Then her eyes widen and she moves back against the wall.  "You're one of them."

Heidi rolls her eyes.  "I'm not 'one of them'.  I don't believe there's a them to be one of."  She thinks about Charles and decides not to mention that.  

"It said there were others, didn't it?"

"Would you stop saying 'it'?  You're just being perverse."

"I'm trying to open your eyes."

"Didn't you hear what she said, the things she told us?  This isn't a horror movie…"

"It looked like it to me."

Heidi is starting to get angry but she struggles to control it.  "I know it was a shock.  Can't we go somewhere and talk about this?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you.  I can't be sure anymore who you are."

Heidi stares.  "At that rate, you can't be sure of anyone.  What happened to the man in that film?  Enjoy the loony bin."  She walks away.  

\---------------

Out in the street, she wanders, staring at a changed world.  Diane is right about that, at least.  Each person she looks at, she wonders if they are hiding a secret.  Or are they just as ordinary as they seem, as she is.  She wonders if Raven has reached London yet and what sort of welcome she'll find there.  Heidi would like to believe it will be a positive one, but the more she thinks, the less certain she is.  

She thinks about the way some people treat the foreign students, or indeed, anyone who isn't like them, in sex or class.  The way town/gown relations aren't always pleasant.  She thinks about that poor Indian astronomy professor who was shafted by his mentor.  About Diane and Mrs Hatch.  About the way Ted got bullied by Fred Bose and Dick Jarvis from the rugger squad, ostensibly because he wasn't a sportsman, but mostly just because they were terrible cads and decided it would be funny to watch him twitch.  She doesn't really know what the people in government are like.  A mix probably, just like the university.  

Did she do the right thing, advising Raven to approach the Prime Minister?  Was she naive?  Almost certainly, she answers herself.  Perhaps hopeful, rather.  Would she have done better helping her friend to escape and hide?  But Raven herself was tired of hiding.  Then again, perhaps all she needed was for one friend to know.  But could that ever be enough?  What a miserable life, to have to spend it hidden away, and to die unknown.  Wouldn't it be worth fighting to be yourself openly, or as openly as you choose?  But if you are imprisoned or die for that fight, can it be worth it?  She supposes the Emmeline Pankhurst or Emily Wilding Davison would say yes.  

Her mind goes round and round the question and it tires her.  She wishes she could be with Raven, but she knows her mother is right.  Finding herself in the middle of town with no particular aim, she decides to do as Mum suggested and start reading up on biology and genetics.  

\---------------

She goes to her parents' house laden with books.  The three of them are in the middle of wild speculation when Professor Weir arrives.  

He faces Heidi and demands, "How much do you know?"

She's surprised but answers, "No more than you.  Probably less than you, now."

"What did she tell you?"

"Dennis," says her father, "what's happened?"

"The Prime Minister is considering the matter.  He has asked me not to discuss it.  I will simply say, though, that Xavier was not entirely honest with us."

Mum says, "If Mr Macmillan asked you not to discuss it, perhaps we should find another topic."

Professor Weir continues to concentrate on Heidi.  "He grossly underrepresented his abilities.  His true capabilities are frightening."

Heidi says, "Raven told me, uh, us, me and Diane Wells, a little about her life.  She told us that extreme single generation genetic mutations have begun to occur.  That's all.  She didn't tell me about Charles' abilities, I learned about them here this morning, when we all did."

He examines her for another moment then turns away to pace.  "I feel very worried, very worried indeed as to whether I did the right thing."

"Dennis," says Mum, "Macmillan did ask you not to discuss this."

"But was he in his right mind?  You don't understand, Xavier cannot merely read minds, he can control them.  He stopped six agents - _six_ \- in their tracks and held them frozen.  And there was another man too, who turned up just as we arrived at Number 10.  A German," he says, darkly.  "A colleague of theirs.  He turned the agents' guns on them."

Heidi froze herself.  "No," she breathes, "Raven wouldn't… Charles wouldn't."

Mum asks, "What happened then?"

With slight reluctance, Professor Weir says, "Charles released the men and the German returned their guns.  It was 'just a demonstration'.  But these people are very dangerous indeed."

"How fascinating," says Mum.  

"Dangerous, Katherine.  Not fascinating."

"They can be both, can't they?  Tigers, for example, or volcanoes.  And I have known Charles and Raven for several years now.  They are thoroughly pleasant and good-hearted young people.  You cannot persuade me to be afraid of them."

"You weren't there today."

"Today when they didn't hurt anyone?  Today when they chose to submit themselves to danger in order to be open with their government?  They could have continued to hide.  They could have continued to deceive.  Charles could, according to you, have simply forced you to do what he wanted.  He gave you a choice.  

"You seem to be saying," she continued, while Heidi silently cheered her mother on, "that his abilities are strong enough that he could have left you with no doubt that it was you choice.  And yet your mind is free to wonder."

"Perhaps he's making me wonder to make me think that I was free when really I wasn't."

They stare at him for a moment.  Mum says, "That way lies madness.  I repeat, I believe in Charles.  And you're only going to spend your life wondering unless you find out more."

"Or I might find myself further ensnared."

"Knowledge is freedom."

"Kant?"

"Miles Davis.  You know, I wonder what effect the existence of true telepathy is going to have on the problem of objective knowledge?  And, of course," she looks into the future with relish, "the question must now be urgently addressed of how we define a human, human rights, sentience, sentient rights, oh my!"  

Heidi and Professor Weir gaze at the rapt philosopher for a moment then turn to each other.  

Heidi says, "So the Prime Minister hasn't made a decision yet?"

"Not yet.  He says he'll be in touch and, uh, asks, as I said, that we not discuss it."  Weir looks slightly ashamed as he says this.  

"In that case," says Mum, "we had better not discuss it anymore.  Dennis, you've had a trying day.  Why don't you go home, have a stiff brandy, and try thinking about things from a more balanced point of view?"

Dad says, "We can meet again tomorrow night, if you'd like, see if there's any more news, discuss what steps to take next."

Professor Weir nods and politely takes his leave, still troubled.  

Dad comes back from seeing him to the door.  Heidi meets his eyes.  Dad says, "Heidi, if you do know anything…"

"I don't.  I've told you everything."

"All right then."

Heidi doesn't believe she has ever seen her father look overwhelmed before.  He opens and closes his hands, turns one way and another, then sits and stares into space.  "This changes… everything.  Everything we thought we understood, everything we were sure about.  Everything has to be re-evaluated in the light of this."

"Isn't it wonderful?"  sighs Mum.  

"Not particularly," snaps Dad, "No."

Mum's eyes go wide.  "James!  Why not?"

"The implications of this are impossible to predict, but they will be immense.  If such mutations become public knowledge and if they continue to develop and spread, it will cause immense social upheaval."

"So?" asks Heidi.  

"People don't like change.  They fear it.  The human animal does not react well to fear.  And talking of animals, where does this leave the field of biological sciences, everything we have discovered over the years?"

"As far as biological sciences goes," says Mum, "these changes guarantee thousands of research projects, and jobs for ten of thousands of graduates.  Besides, universities don't exist for scholars to agree with everything that's gone before.  We spend our lives building on the past or disagreeing with it or reinterpreting it and coming up with our own research and theorems.  While it maybe that those intellects in residence fight against that which challenges them en masse - as the church did against Galileo or poor Hardy having to keep quiet about his aquatic ape theory - that is a human psychopathy, not the true soul of scholarship.  True scholarship welcomes that which is different and new as adding insight into the path for truth."

Dad says, "It's going to cause an awful stink."

Heidi remembers.  "Diane went to see Dr Ryan.  I think she told him about Raven.  Or she was going to.  But she might have decided not to and just told him she needs to talk to the CIA."

Dad waves this away.  "Ryan will go through MI5 before approaching the CIA.  They'll deal with Miss Wells."

Heidi isn't sure how she feels about Diane being dealt with.  It isn't in her nature to give up on friendships.  

\---------------

It's been a couple of days of research and worry, leaving her frustrated and desperate to hear from Raven.  

There's not much about genetics in the books yet, it's a recent subject.  Watson, Crick and Wilkins only got the Nobel prize for their DNA research this year.  She spares a moment to feel sorry for Rosalind Franklin, dead of cancer, and wonders, had she lived, would she have been recognised with her colleagues?  DNA was first isolated by Miescher in 1869, less than a century ago.  Avery, MacLeod and McCarty identified DNA as the substance responsible for transformation in 1943.  Franklin photographed it in 1952.  Watson and Crick proposed the double helix structure in 1953.  

In fact, if she's honest, there's quite a lot about genetics, it's only in comparison with the vast arrays of tracts on history, English, Classics and all that it seems skimpy.  And, if she's honest, she doesn't know enough biochemistry to understand most of it.  She had hoped her basic scientific knowledge gleaned from living in an academic environment, late night coffee parties and Charles would help.  She had thought that her own studies in Latin and philology would enable her to understand the words, but it turns out that scientists have been performing linguistic transformations of their own - is there a paper in that? - and she can't make head nor tail of most of it.

She quickly gets too frustrated with biology and wild surmise, and returns to her own world of linguistic mutation to soothe herself.  She goes to the Bodleian.  She sits with a stack of books, the skirt of her long coat trailing on the floor, a pen stuck in fingers of the hand that her forehead is resting on.  She scratches the bare nape of her neck with her other hand and slowly turns some pages, looking for a passage she thinks she remembers.  

A hand touches her shoulder.  She says, "Hm?" and half looks up.  She shoots to her feet when she sees Raven - blonde Raven, at least - standing by her.  "Raven!" she shout-whispers and grabs her friend's arms.  

Raven grins back and squeezes her forearms.  

Heidi can't hold back and hugs her, whispering, "It's so good to see you."

The scholar sitting nearest clears his throat and when Heidi glances at him, he is glaring at them.  They turn to each other, grin and, after a bit of sign language, they stuff Heidi's academic paraphernalia into her bag and turn to leave.  

A woman is standing a few steps away, watching them.  She is beautiful, petite and curvy, with long, dark hair and dark eyes.  She gives a little finger wave and Heidi tentatively smiles.  Raven links arms with both of them and steers them outside.  

"Heidi Penhollow, this is Angel Salvadore.  Angel, Heidi."

Heidi says, "Pleased to meet you," and offers her hand.  

Angel looks then takes it.  "Hi."

Raven says, "Angel's …" she takes a quick look round but no-one's standing near, "a mutant too."

"Oh!"  Heidi looks at her with interest.  

Angel steps back.  "Yeah.  Uh, I'll leave you guys to it and I'll just…"

Raven says, "No, wait.  Give each other a chance.  Let's go back to my digs and you two can get to know each other."

Heidi agrees readily.  Angel shrugs and nods.  Before they set off, Heidi impulsively hugs Raven again.  "I am glad to see you.  I had no idea what was happening."  

Raven hugs back and smiles happily.  "Everything's fine.  Everything's great.  Well, except Charles, but he'll be okay, we'll manage.  We'll be fine."  She takes a breath, "Oh God, I've got so much to tell you.  Not here.  Let's go."

\---------------

They settle down with tea and coffee, Heidi and Raven on the sofa, Angel on the saggy, fraying armchair.  Heidi says, "I want to know everything."  A thought strikes her.  "You know you don't have to …  I mean, you can be yourself."

Raven looks down at herself and gives a short laugh.  "I keep forgetting.  I've spent so many years like this."  She changes.  

Heidi sighs in wonder.  "This is incredible!  Wonderful!"

Angel says, "It's less exciting to live, believe me.  More of a pain in the ass."

"What are your abilities?  If you don't mind telling me."

Angel looks at her and then shrugs.  "Why not?"  She stands and starts to remove her top.  Heidi is a bit surprised and wonders if Angel is also a shapeshifter.  

In a way, she is.  

Heidi watches the diaphanous iridescence unfold and shiver in the air, sees Angel's feet hanging above the floor, and is struck dumb with wonder yet again.  It must show on her face because as Angel descends, she has a soft, pleased smile gracing her lips.  

 "So, that's me.  Also, I can spit fire.  Which is fun but less pretty."

"That's amazing.  You're both amazing," says Heidi, looking back and forth between them.  "How is this possible?"

Raven says, "You'll have to talk to Charles about that.  I'm not sure even he knows yet."

"After my efforts with the biology textbooks, I'm not sure I'd understand.  But tell me what you can, tell me everything, please.  How did you two meet?  And what was the business with this man Shaw?"

"It's a lo-ong story," says Raven.  She looks as Angel.  "Help me out here."

Angel grabs her coffee and crosses her arms.  She shrugs and stares into her mug.  "My part's not that long.  Besides, I don't come out of it so well, do I?"  She drinks.  

"You made the choice you felt you had to."  Raven sounds a little unsure.  She shakes her head and then nods.  She says more firmly, "You did what you had to.  It's not like we have any idea how this is going to play out.  Every choice we make is a shot in the dark.  All we can do is try to build a future on what we want and think we can have.  Like everyone, I guess, we just do the best we can.  You're here now."

Angel nods then looks at Raven.  "Yep.  I just, I want a plan.  You know?  I like to know where my life is going.  Right now, it's all in someone else's hands and that's … hard for me."

"We have a plan.  Fix the mansion.  Take a course.  Find other mutants.  Learn about ourselves."

"Learn to fight."  Angel has a challenging look in her eyes, and Heidi wonders what's under discussion.  

"Learn to defend," suggests Raven.  

Heidi breaks in.  "Fight whom?  Defend against whom?"

Angel turns to her.  "Humans."

"I beg your pardon?"  Heidi knows she must have misunderstood, though an insidious thought flashes back to Diane.  

Raven quickly puts a hand on her arm and says, "Not you.  Not all humans.  Just those who have a problem with us.  You know what people are like."

Angel mutters, "People, governments, armies."

Raven says, "Let's start from the beginning.  When Moira came to see Charles."  She turns to Angel.  "But you do have to help me.  I've told this story right through once and it makes my throat sore.  And you can help me with the details."

Angel shrugs then gets a wicked expression.  She says, "You're the one with all the _important_ details."  She gives a leer and Raven bites her lip, her body language speaking of embarrassment, and is that a flush?  A slight darkening of the skin on her cheeks and forehead.  It's hard to spot, but Heidi thinks so.  

She looks between them.  "What's this?"

"Nothing," mutters Raven.  

Angel swings her cup, still smiling evilly.  "Yeah, like you aren't dying to give her the details about … Hank."

Heidi twists back to Raven, bright with interest, just in time to catch her relaxing, though still looking embarrassed, rolling her eyes.  

"And _E-rik_."

Raven tenses up, caught, it seems, and now it's clearly a flush.  And yet, there's a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth.  

Heidi grins at her.  "Who's _E-rik_?"

Raven shakes her head and smiles.  "He's a friend of Charles.  Another mutant."

Angel snorts softly.  "I think you know him a little better than the Professor does."

"Angel."

"It's not like they've been getting up to what you two have."

" _An-gel_."

And suddenly everything is normal.  Does her friend have a _boyfriend_?  Heidi is gripped.  Raven's never had a boyfriend, even though men are always trying to flirt with her and buy her drinks.  She always refuses.  Now Heidi understands why.  She wouldn't have thought that anything could distract her from their mutancies but she's thoroughly diverted.  "I want to hear everything.  About everything."

"He's not even interested."  And yet Raven is still fighting a smile.  

"Everything," Heidi insists.  

It takes most of the day.  

\---------------

Raven and Angel stay over night after a bottle of wine and a blossoming of friendship.  The next morning, Heidi says to Raven, "Mum and Dad would love to see you.  They have a ton of questions.  And they'd love to see you for you."

With a wry smile, Raven says, "I'm sure.  But I'm not ready for that yet.""You know that when the public finds out, you're going to be drowning in questions and you won't be able to hide from them."

"I don't intend to hide from anything.  I just … I'm not ready yet."

"All right then."

There's a silence.

Raven says, "It's not them, I mean, I like your parents.  It's the questions.  I can handle ordinary questions but they're going to be asking academic questions.  Scientific questions, about the biology and everything, and the philosophical implications.  That's Charles' patch, not mine."

"Yes, you're probably right," Heidi admits.

"You tell them what I told you.  We're not meant to talk much about it, but they already know enough that they might as well know everything."

"Professor Weir as well.  He's rather het up about it all."

"Macmillan said he'd fill Weir in.  I don't know what he said, though."

"Hm.  I might try to find out."

Raven and Angel leave at midday.  That evening, Heidi sits in her parents' living room by the fire and recites the tale.  Though she leaves out the personal bits.  It sounds to her as though she's retelling a science fiction plot, something John Wyndham might write.  Her father sits with his elbows on his knees, staring into the fire.  Her mother sits on the big armchair, feet drawn up and back straight, supporting her chin with one hand.

At the end, her father shakes his head and her mother lets out her breath and says, "Well!"

Heidi waits in silence.  Eventually her father says, "This is …"  He shakes his head again and goes to the sideboard to get a cigarette.

Her Mum asks, "Is Raven going to visit us?  I would love to talk to her about it all."

"I'm sure she will.  She's concerned about Charles at the moment-"

"Of course."

"-and, er, if she comes, will you promise not to bombard her with viva questions?  Or anything scientific.  Save them for Charles."

"We'll do our best.  First year seminar standard only."

"That's not going to reassure her."

"Do you think this is why she never went up?"

"Maybe.  I don't think Raven is the varsity type, though.  Not everyone enjoys writing essays.  But I am sure it's why she never tried to become an actress."

"She would be a remarkable actress."

"Yes."

Dad says, "For God's sake.  Do the two of you understand what is happening here?"

Mum says, "Not completely, James, which is why I want to speak to Raven and Charles.  Even then, I doubt we'll be able to discern how far the ripples from this will travel and what will be transfigured by their passing."

"Exactly!  Who knows how many people there are with these abilities?  How many of our colleagues and students are keeping this sort of secret?"

"I shouldn't imagine many," Mum breaks in, "if it were a common state, we'd know about it."

Dad opens the drinks cabinet and pours himself a whisky.  "Then is this an isolated group of people, or is it the start of a new evolutionary phase for the human race?  Has it been slowly developing under the surface for a long time, or is it as sudden as it appears? Is it affecting other species or just our own? And depending on the answers to those questions, where does that leave us in respect of our understanding of biology and evolution?  It could overthrow everything we thought we knew."

Mum blinks at him in confusion.  "Yes.  Is that a problem?"

"Of course it is!"

"Why?"

"Why?  Why should I be worried about the pillars of the world being kicked away?"

Mum gets up and goes over to him.  "My dear chap.  Do you think the sun won't rise tomorrow, or the Earth will stop producing food?  For millennia, man has not understood the world, and it didn't fall apart.  Don't be so arrogant.  The pillars stand strong because they do not depend on our understanding.  So, we will learn more, we can rub out our misconceptions and write new ones."  She gives a little smile and he looks exasperated.  "It would be foolish to imagine we won't still make mistakes."  She takes his hands.  "It's exciting.  Why would we be afraid of new knowledge?"

"I don't call it exciting to have to start all over again.  It makes us look like fools.  And I'm not afraid of knowledge.  I'm afraid of people with strange abilities who have been hiding among us, sneaking around…"

Heidi feels sick.  It was bad enough to hear Diane's ravings.

Mum lets go of his hands.  "James!  Really.  You're afraid of Charles and Raven?  Of Charles?"

"I thought I knew Charles.  I know nothing."

"Not nothing.  Just as not all scientific discoveries will be disproved, Charles is still largely the man we know."

"How can you be sure of that?  How can you be sure he wasn't presenting himself all these years in a way he knew would be agreeable to us?  That he wasn't manipulating us?"

Heidi feels like crying.  Her own father.

Mum stares at him and then shakes her head.  "I won't dignify that with a logical answer.  I will say again, don't be so bloody arrogant.  And _THINK!_   I know Charles, even if you've forgotten the past decade.  He is a dear man.  Raven is a lovely girl."

Dad turns to Heidi and says, "You're not to see her again."

"Go to Hell."  She stands slowly.  Dad looks shocked, Mum saddened.  "I will not abandon Raven and Charles just because you're descending into paranoia."

"It is not paranoia."

"So you think that in the pursuit of his evil plans, he has spent over ten years larking about Oxford, chasing girls with middling success, and delving into genetics, rather than entering business or politics, the civil service, the secret service.  And in pursuit of _her_ plans for world domination, " she folds her arms, "Raven's spent six years as a waitress."

Dad opens his mouth but nothing comes out.  He tries again, blinking a bit, brow furrowed.  "Charles might … after all, Oxford is … ."  

Mum takes his hand and pats it.  "Try to keep some perspective, dear."

"See here …"

Heidi shakes her head and goes into the hall.  She is putting on her coat when her mother says, "Don't blame him.  It's awkward when you think you understand the world, to have it veer off into something entirely new.  And it becomes harder as you get older."

"They've been colleagues in the department for over ten years."

"Even so."

Heidi goes to the door but remembers and looks back.  "Are you going to tell Professor Weir what I told you?"

"I imagine he already knows all the Prime Minister wants him to know."

"Have you seen him since that day?  He was rather agitated.  Is he going to make trouble?"

Dad appears behind Mum.  "No.  He and I had a meeting with a couple of men from MI5, and Prof Farnscombe and Dr Ryan.  The Prime Minister wants to support Charles in his research.  He asked us to arrange for him to receive the facilities he needs.  It shouldn't cause too much argument, he did receive his promotion just before his sabbatical and no-one can argue against us adapting the facilities to his… new situation."

"Good."  She opens the door.  There is a light rain and she turns up her collar.

"Heidi."

She pauses, doesn't turn back.

"You do realise Raven didn't tell you everything.  Presuming that you told us everything she told you.  There are gaps."

"I know."  She goes out into the night.

\---------------

A few days later, she and Mum go to visit Charles.  Heidi is nervous, though she isn't quite sure why.  It's Charles, what is there to be nervous about?  But she thinks it might be a fear of doing or saying the wrong thing to him in his … his new condition.  The Wheelchair.  Seeing him in Oxford hadn't really bothered her.  When it hit her, the night after, she was surprised at herself.  While it's true that at the time she was overwhelmed with the discovery of their strangeness, after much thought she realised it hadn't bothered her because she didn't believe it.  Charles couldn't be _confined_   to a wheelchair.  Some part of her mind had told her that he must be in it for a prank of some sort.  Or something like a pram race - he and Miles were a great team - but with wheelchairs. 

The clinic is a bit more swish than she expected.  A nurse lets her in and Charles comes wheeling out of a side room.  And this time, it shakes her.  This time, her heart squeezes and tears hit the back of her eyes.  

Poor Charles.

She tries not to stare at his body, forces herself to meet his eyes and realises he _knows_.  But is he reading her face or her mind?

A thought arrives in her head.  _Both._   And how strange, how amazing to apprehend the shape and the harmony of a thought that isn't hers.

Mum smiles, steps forward and offers her hand.  "Charles.  We've been worried about you."

"Katharine, it's good to see you."

Heidi steps forward, pauses.

Charles turns to her and smiles.  "Welcome to my digs.  They're a good deal neater than usual.  It comes of having people to wait on me hand and foot."

At this, everything seems more normal.  It's Charles.  She smiles back and gives him a hug.  "It's good to see you too.  We've missed you."  She stands up.  "You must tell me everything."

"I thought Raven already had."

"You have to tell me everything else."

He smiles again.  "Come on.  We can have tea in my room."

He wheels backwards in a slight curve towards the room he came from, then tries to curve out the other way to go down the hall.  It takes a little effort and he has to try a couple of times.  It reminds her of her driving lessons, she found manoeuvres hard too.

"Can I help?"

He grimaces.  "Only by being patient.  I have to practice."

She nods and worries that she has offended him.

_No.  I get frustrated with myself, so clumsy.  "_ There's a chap here who's leaving in a couple of weeks and you should see him swoop around in his."  They set off down the corridor.  "I'm through here _._ "

They sit at the table with a pot of tea, a plate of sandwiches and one of cakes.  Mum says, "Shall I be mother?" and picks up the teapot.

Heidi wonders where to start.  "How is it?"  she asks.  "This place."

"It's bearable.  It was never going to be fun but I'm sure it could be worse."

"I believe there are some frightful places."

"Yes."

Mum says, "And is it permanent?"

Always to the heart of things, that's Mum.

"Yes.  Unless there are advances in medical science."

"I'm so sorry.  If there's anything we can do."

"I'll let you know."

"James and I have been discussing what we can do to the house."

He looks surprised.  "Really?  That's very generous."

"It might not be very much, being university property, we're not allowed to knock down any walls.  But we don't want it to be hard for you to visit us.  We're still expecting you and Raven for New Year's Eve, we've stockpiled some Bollinger, and you're welcome to bring your friends, if they'd like, though being young people, from America particularly, it might be a bit fuddy-duddy for them."

Charles is grinning.  "We'll have to train them to enjoy English entertainments.  No more sock-hops and a lamentable lack of drive-in theatres."

"And Professor Farnscombe asked me to tell you that they're adapting the biological sciences building."

"Already?"

"The Chancellor requested it personally.  There is to be full wheelchair access and a laboratory with lower work surfaces and low cupboards.  If you want anything else, you'd better let him know soon."

"I will."  Charles looks dead chuffed.  He takes a sandwich.  "Which lab is it?"

"Dr Lindstrom's."

Charles chokes on his sandwich.  "Lindstrom's.  He'll be furious."

"Oh, he is.  But it's the biggest on the ground floor and he can't argue that he needs the space more than you.  Farnscombe said there's a small storeroom near it that can be adapted into a smallest room that's big enough for a wheelchair.  And, while it's being done for you, if we ever have any other disabled staff or students, it will be helpful for them too."  She bites into a cake.

Heidi takes a sandwich as a diversion and wonders how to ask.

Charles looks at her.  "Just ask."

"Do you have to keep doing that?  Can you stop or is it a constant process and you can't turn it off if you want to?"

He sits back.  "I am always aware of living minds and strong emotions.  The rest is more or less open to control.  Raven made me promise never to read her mind, though I must admit I lapse from time to time.  It feels natural to me to be aware of people's surface thoughts.  Deeper knowledge requires effort."

Mum says, "And can you transmit your thoughts back?"

"Yes."

"Show me."  Mum sits up straighter and waits.

Charles takes a bite and chews, his eyes on her.  Heidi doesn't here anything, but her mother's body language shows delight and, as Heidi expected, fascination.  It's strange to watch them.  They are communicating, it's in their expressions, gestures, reactions, but it's all in silence.

After a moment, Mum breathes, "Wonderful!   How does it work?"

"Some form of electromagnetic wave, one step to the side.  How's your physics?"

"Awful.  And where in the brain does it originate?"

"I'll get back to you on that when I've worked with a neuroscientist for a few months."

"Right.  And Dennis Weir implies that you can control or manipulate minds as well."

"That takes more effort.  And I don't think it's wise, or ethical, of course, to twist or distort, outright control someone else's thoughts.  Their moods, their choices, their knowledge.  It's not healthy."

"Do you mean for them or for you?"

"Both."

"But you have done it."

"I have.  Recently, in our venture, it became necessary.  I regret that it was but being that it was, I don't regret doing it.  Even…"  He looks into his tea.  "Well.  What's done is done."  He takes a sip.

"Had you never tried it before?"

"Three times.  The first, I don't regret.  My step-brother was attacking Raven and I don't regret what I did.  The second time I was arrogant and short-sighted.  I thought I was helping someone, fixing them.  I made things worse.  The third time I tried very hard to be gentle."  He makes a face.  "I must admit, I also practiced a bit on the monkeys in the biology labs.  Not the apes, of course."

This surprises Mum.  "You can connect with animal minds as well?"

"Most of them work along the same lines as human minds.  Neurologically, I mean."

"And why not apes?  Surely they are most like humans."

"That's the point.  They are so like us, more than you realise."

"Fascinating.  Oh, Charles, you have so much to contribute."

"I believe so.  I want to."

They fall to discussing the multitude of possibilities that Charles has been dreaming about.  Heidi listens and watches her friend.  He is typical Charles, full of enthusiasm for his subject.  Heidi wonders whether he found concealment as hard as Raven.

_Nowhere near._   "To be honest, it doesn't bother me much."

"Are you watching all my thoughts?"  Heidi is starting to be quite alarmed, flashing back over the years they've known each other, the things she's thought.

"Just the surface ones.  I can stop if you'd like."

"Yes.  Please."

He accepts but she wonders, did she spot a brief flash of disappointment?  hurt?  He says, "Don't worry about the past.  I don't do it all the time.  It's helpful when someone is having trouble explaining themselves, or when a student is struggling to understand.  And, as I said, it feels natural to keep up with surface thoughts.  

"I do close off other times, though.  There's no point in my getting irritated with someone who doesn't like me when they're being adult enough not to show it.  And what goes on in people's minds isn't always pleasant.  Sometimes I don't want to know about it.  But sometimes … it can be hard.  If someone's been hurt, I want to help but…"  He shakes his head, moves restlessly, nudging one wheel back and forth.  "Do you remember Ann Taylor?  Dropped out in her second year?"

"Yes," says Mum, and Heidi casts her mind back, a vague memory, a girl who went odd and left.  It happened.  Some people just couldn't handle the demands of the work.  "What about her?"

"Some chap at Jesus.  Thought female students were only up to find a husband, and he was within his rights to, in his words, take them out for a road test.  Good-looking chap.  He didn't believe any woman would really be unwilling, especially if she'd been made a little giddy by his charm.  

"And what could I do?  Any number of things but were any of them right?  Correct, I should say, not moral.  Should I make her forget?  But memory is a tricky thing.  Experiences like that leave smears in other corners, patterns learned, responses, sensory and behavioural.  Hard to be left with the responses without knowing why.  And what would happen when she saw him again?

"I wondered if I could ease the experience for her, but how?  I couldn't make it not matter.  That might cause dreadful knock-on effects on her behaviour.  I thought I might make it seem distant but that's hard, subtle work.  I know it would be, I admit I've never tried.  I would have stood up with her but she was trying so hard to put the whole thing behind her and carry on as normal.  And how could I tell her that I knew without admitting to what would seem … I suppose what was … another violation."

Mum murmurs, "Perhaps a worse one."  She gives a brief smile and pats his knee.  "Not, you couldn't have told her that."

"She was so ashamed, that was the worst, she hadn't done anything wrong.  She was a bright young woman and it was poisoning her.  I feel I ought to have been able to help her."

Heidi asks, "What about him?"

"Again, what could I do?  I couldn't tell anyone.  I did have a few choice thoughts about what I could do to punish him.  I wasn't even very bothered about practising on him.  But I was worried about the consequences.  I don't know what long-term effect mental castration would have;  it might have driven him to worse behaviour.  Besides.  I'm not sure I want to start down the path of meting out punishment.  I don't want telepathy used that way.  I did take some steps but…  It doesn't feel like enough.  And no matter what I did to him, she's still suffering."

They sat in silence for a moment.  Mum says, "That's quite a burden."

"Oh, it's not that bad.  Most of the time, it's fun.  But I feel it could be, _should_ be more than that."

"I'm certain it could.  Should is a more difficult concept."

Heidi asks, "Of all your ideas, what would you like to do the most?"

Charles puts down his tea-cup and sits back.  "I'd like to have a clinic for telepathic therapy.  I'm sure there are so many conditions that I could help with.  I hope in the next few years I'l be able to work with a neuroscientist and a neuropsychologist to find out more about the human brain and how to heal it."

"That's an awful lot for one man to take on."

"We know there's another telepath.  Though I didn't get the idea that she has a passion to help others.  But I should say there'll certainly be more.  Perhaps they'll want to help."

"I don't much like the idea of a telepath without ethics."

"No argument there.  But perhaps I'm unfair.  We didn't talk much.  She may have reasons for her attitude.  I was lucky with my parents.  Raven wasn't.  I have no idea what Miss Frost's were like."

"Could we fight back against you or her, if you tried to take over?"

Charles is silent, looking out into the night.  Then he turns back and looks them in the eye.  "Yes.  If you knew.  But I can't tell you what damage it might do.  Still, I couldn't … I can't maintain complete control for very long.  Subtler controls, though, extrasuggestion, would be harder to shake off."

"What's extrasuggestion?"

"I coined it to be the opposite of autosuggestion.  And I don't know how strong I will become with practice."  He gives a complicated smile.  "Erik thinks I should practice, after instructing the rest of them."

Heidi says carefully, "Raven mentioned Erik."

Charles nods.

Mum says, "I didn't get much of an impression of him, third hand."  She looks between the two of them.  "A man looking for revenge, understandably, against Shaw-Schmidt.  Magnetic.  A friend of yours."

"Yes."

"Is that all?"

"God, no.  I could write a textbook on Erik and label it volume one.  We'll be here all night.  Perhaps you'll meet him, then you can tell me."

"I look forward to it."

Charles seems to consider that with amusement.

"Bring him to the New Year party."

"I will, for the amusement of seeing Erik at a party.  That should give me chapter one of volume two."

Mum smiles.  "I have so much more to ask, but I'll need time to gather my thoughts before our second seminar.  I'm very glad you're back."

Charles smiles.  "It's good to see you too."

Mum stands, picks up her coat.  Heidi says, "Mum, could I have a moment with Charles?"

"Of course, I'll see you outside."  She and Charles shake hands and she leaves.

"What can I do for you?"  Asks Charles.

Heidi wonders how to put it.  Does he already know?  He said he would stop looking, but was he just telling her what she wanted to hear?

He says, "If you're having trouble expressing yourself…"

"No.  It's…  This Erik."

"Mmm.

"Raven has a bit of a pash for him."

"Still?"

"Yes."

"Ah."

"Except, what she told me about what happened, it doesn't sound as though he reciprocates."

"Mm."

"I don't want her to get hurt."

"No.  No."

"Worse than she already has."

Charles sighs.  "I don't know what to say.  If a man tells a woman that he's not interested and she doesn't accept that, I don't know what can be done."

"This isn't some woman, this is your sister."

"Also a woman."

"Come on."

"She's your friend.  Why don't you say something?"

"I haven't met him.  And maybe I missed something.  But you could tell her with absolute authority that he's not interested."

"More authority than the man himself?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Charles..."

"If she won't take it from him, she won't take it from me.  I'm her brother, she doesn't listen to me."

Heidi, an only child, felt there was something wrong there but couldn't challenge it.  She had heard other people make similar remarks.

Charles says, "You talk to her.  Meet him, clock his complete lack of interest, and tell her in the nicest way possible that there's no chance."

"And if he is interested?"

Charles tripped over that one.  "Well, then…," he smoothed his hand over the outer wheel of his chair, "tell her to go for it."  He looked almost defiant.  Heidi wondered what that was about.  "But he's not.  I don't think he's…  He's not interested in a relationship with anyone."

"All right."

"Anyway, it's not that important to her."  

She goggles at him.  

"Is it?"

"Gosh.  Telepathy isn't all that's advertised, is it?"

"To be fair, I keep out of her mind."

"It's a big deal."  He still doesn't seem to understand.  She shakes her head.  "What about Hank?"

"Hank has his own problems at the moment."

"She mentioned.  Maybe this could get his mind off them?"

"I doubt it."

"Mm, considering your opinions so far, I'm going to discount that."

"Thanks!"

"What about Gus?"

"Now there, you may be on to something."

Heidi nods.  She takes her coat and offers her hand.  "I'm glad you're both home.  I hope you get out of here soon."

"Seconded.  Look after Raven.  Maybe I've not done as well at that as I hoped."

"I think you've done quite well.  So does she."

He looks happier.  "Thank you."

She leaves.  The strange new world is still describing itself, but what with man trouble and university politics - she wonders how Lindstrom will retaliate for the loss of his lab - it may be more simply a rearrangement of the old world, than the emergence of a new.


	34. Wherein Charles starts his therapy

**Charles**

It's odd to see a dining room with no chairs at the tables.  There are one or two against the walls, in case of guests, the doctor explains.  There are no guests tonight, and five other patients are already assembled in the anteroom, enjoying cocktails.  

Charles raises an eyebrow to Dr Halverstone.  "Cocktails?"

"Why not?" asks a woman, slightly younger than Charles, with wavy, messy, auburn hair and an aristocratic accent.  She's the one he felt earlier, burning with determination.  "It isn't as though we're invalids.  Not on medication, are you?"

"No," says Charles, "unless I'm about to be prescribed some."

"Get a snifter down your throat while you have the chance, I would.  What can I get you?"  She spins her chair expertly towards a sideboard with a long line of decanters, glasses and shakers.  "Cocktail or sherry?"

"Martini, please, dry."

Dr Halverstone says, "May I introduce you?"  

At Charles' nod, he continues, "This is Professor Charles Xavier.  Professor, this is Paul French," a grey young man, slumped in on himself, mind like papers tumbling before the wind of fate.  

"Miss Helen Hartswell," Halverstone indicates the woman stirring his cocktail, a handsome woman, mind like a captain trying to hold the course of a tall ship on rough seas.  

"Mrs Iris Healey," an middle-aged woman with face and clothes struggling against time, mind struggling against a mire.  

"Mr Clive Morrison," red-faced, body turning to fat, a sharp and bitter mind;  "Mr Thomas Rowe," about forty with an angular face and intense dark eyes, and within, the armoured sadness.  But beyond that he finds a clear pool of intelligence with little flowers of humour, still holding on despite the lowering clouds.

French and Mrs Healey both nod at him.  French strains a small smile and Mrs Healey manages a few low words but it's clear that they have their own troubles.  

Rowe says, "Pleased to meet you," and shakes his hand.  "I would get up but…" he smiles.  Charles smiles back and says, "No, let's not stand on ceremony."

"Another bloody comedian," snarls Morrison.  

"Ignore him," says Miss Hartswell, handing Charles his cocktail.  "And call me Muffy."  She turns to the others.  "Can I get you another one, Iris?  French?"

Both refuse.  

"Give me another sherry," says Morrison.  

"Rowe?"

"I'm saving myself for a cognac afterwards."

"Fair enough."

Charles examines his fellow patients again.  Mrs Healey wishes the meal were over and she could return to her solitude.  She doesn't want the food, she just knows she has to be seen to eat, or she'll be forced to.  French is doing what he's told, mostly lost in the lament and confusion of mourning, though as far as Charles can tell, he's mourning himself.  Morrison hates the world for consigning him to a wheelchair, and every living being is the world's representative.

Muffy and Rowe are in a better state, though that seems to be due to a determination not to give in, rather than any acceptance of their state.  

He barely has time for a sip of his cocktail when a matron calls them to dinner.  Charles shares a table with Muffy and Rowe.  

"So," says Muffy, as they are served a pleasant dinner with wine, "what's your bad luck?  I fell with my hunter and he rolled on me.  I have a crushed leg and a break in my fifth thoracic."

"I was inspecting an unsafe building," says Rowe.  "Turns out it was even more unsafe than I thought."

Charles considers for a moment then says, "Bullet to the lower spine."  They look interested so he adds, "It's a long story and mostly classified."

"Say no more," says Rowe, though Muffy wishes he would.  

"You were inspecting a building?" Charles asks him.  

"With a view to buying.  I'm in property development."

"Interesting you should say that.  I've been thinking of having my home altered for wheelchair access."

Rowe smiles.  "Yes, it's not something I ever considered before.  I've been reassessing a number of our standard property designs. When I get my exeat from this place I'm going to implement them."

Muffy says, "You'll have to give me the details.  Pater's being impossible.  He wants me to go back and live with him and mater so he's only arranged for the old hall to be done, not my own digs.  And he had the nerve to sell my old bus, barely a year old.  I could have had it adapted, or paid the pimple to drive me around."  

Charles, filling in the details behind her words from her mind, sees snatches of her life : her father; both parents; an old country hall, rather smaller than Redbearn but homely; a quick flash of a chic flat in Hereford; a flashy, bright yellow car; her brother, a young man about Alex's age, skin, manners and mind still caught between boy and man.  

"And," continued Muffy, "the old devil keeps threatening to put down old Fred."  Charles saw an image of an powerful bay hunter, taller than Muffy herself.  "That's why I'm working as hard as I can to get out of here.  As soon as I'm out, I'll strap myself back on the old beauty and then there'll be no more of that sort of talk."  She pauses for a moment.  "Of course, it's just possible the old buzzard is doing it on purpose.  He told me about my bus when I was languishing, and didn't it fire me up again."

It's a pleasant evening, the food good, not at all institutional.  Charles feels better about staying there.  Perhaps it's the food, perhaps that he was wrong about the company.  He also suspects this is a much higher class of clinic than the general population gets, a place where rich relatives won't be too disturbed to visit their loved ones.  It could be worse.

\---------------

The therapist thinks, _Oh Lord, get on with it man, it's not that hard._

Charles wants to snap at him but the man's face is smiling and his external voice says, "Good, you almost got it.  One more good try!"

In the night, the nurse thinks, _Ugh, bloody cripples.  Bad enough having to wait on you, but changing sheets is foul.  At least these ones aren't filthy too._

But the face says, "Not to worry, it happens.  We'll have you back in bed in no time."  The irony is if she had said what she was thinking, he wouldn't have disagreed.  

The next day it's a male nurse, who has to wait to pass while Charles muffs a three-point-turn.  _God, this is pathetic.  I don't know why they bother, I'd kill myself if I lost my legs.  What's the point in pretending there's any future?_

Groovy, thanks, I'll be getting on with the suicide then.  Charles badly wants to confront him but the expression in front of these thoughts is a bland and patient smile, nothing to reasonably attack.  

His regular day nurse is nice enough.  For some reason, he always thinks of female nurses as doing light work with a soothing hand.  This one is strong.  "Upsy daisy, dear.  Now, are we feeling comfortable?  We seem to be in a good mood today, so let's give the exercises a jolly good try."

She's also _jolly_.  He would throw up, except then 'we' would have to go back to 'beddy-byes'.  And he would be sharp with her except that underneath, she's kind and she _doesn't_ despise him.  

He starts to close off when he's around them, his perceptions fading to misty visions and muffled echoes.  

And it all takes so long.  Rowe makes the transfers look so easy.  Charles tries to remind himself that it's because Rowe's been here much longer, and that the poor man has problems that Charles doesn't have to deal with.  It doesn't help.  He's getting tired of living on comparatives.  He doesn't want to be 'better than', is sick of 'it could be worse'.  

He is one of the youngest men to receive a Professorship and a Chair, he is an acknowledged authority and pioneer in his field.  The tiny victories that get exaggerated praise from his therapists just make him feel how far he has fallen.  Something is building up inside himself and he squashes it down, repeats his mantra - get on, work hard, get out.  

\---------------

Two weeks after he arrives, Halverstone comes to see him.  "Professor, I wonder if you'd be interested in helping me with an experiment."

"If I can.  What is it?"

"I wonder if you might be able to walk."

A shiver of emotion shoots up Charles' spine and he finds himself sitting forward, gazing intently at Halverstone.  "That's quite an offer."

The doctor sits back with a little smile, pleased by Charles' reaction, but he waves his hand dismissively.  "Don't raise your hopes too high."

Damn the man.  "How high should I raise them?"

"I believe that your injury is low enough that with sufficient bracing and support, you might be able to attain some independent movement.  You won't be dancing a gavotte, but you may - I should probably emphasise _may_ \- be able to move around on special crutches.  

"When can we start?"

On the fourth day, Charles is sweating, leaning on parallel bars while being held up by two male nurses.  He is trying to swing his weight from one bolstered leg to the other.  It is incredibly wearing, and his feels the stress all through his upper body.  He's been trying his hardest the last three days and the accumulated strain is threatening to send all his muscles into spasm.  

Worse, since he is skin to skin with the men, their thoughts come through with utter clarity.  One is thinking mostly about what his wife might cook for tea, _God, please, no more kippers, what's wrong with eggs? steady on, boyo, keep it nice and steady, poor bugger, is there any point?  Maybe some beans with proper snorkers …_.  The other nurse is the suicide advocate.  _So so pitiful.  Why torture the poor sod like this?  Never going to happen.  Just put a pillow over his face, if you really want to help him._

"Right, now, lean," says Halverstone, "and swing, _swing_ , no, that's not … .  Come on, man, put some effort into it."

Charles is breathing harshly through his teeth, trying to restrain his thoughts from spreading to the men.  One leg jolts forward.  

"Good, good, now lean on that and swing the other."

But he can't lean on it, has no idea where his weight is and he overbalances.  The nurses catch him, hold him steady, clamping him between them.  He's just hanging there, the rigid props which used to be legs are as distant from him as a dropped crutch or an oar floating away on the waves.  

"All right, we gotcha."  _Poor bugger, 'ow much longer, eh?  If I get away soon, I could 'ead down the market and pick up some faggots or tripe, nice and fresh off the cart._

_Dear, dear.  I said so, didn't I?  Old Harry blew his head off after he lost his legs to a mine.  Civvies just don't have the courage to get it over with._

"No, no, get it right.  Get your balance back and start again."

"I can't," he pants, "I can't do this."

_Doesn't seem much point, mate._

_No, you can't._

"Put some effort in.  You two, don't hold him so hard, you're cramping him."

_I don't think 'e'll stay up long without us 'olding 'im._

_Bloody fool.  Trying to pretend this fancy place means he's Christ himself, healing the cripples._

Nevertheless, they let him go slightly and he grabs at the bars, straining to hold his weight.  

"Good!  Now, swing your right leg forward.  Go on."

And he tries, he really does.  His arms are shaking.  He twists his body and the dead weight of the leg unbalances him.  His arm gives way.  The nurses make a grab but he goes down, smacking his chin on the bar as he falls.  

He's seeing stars and tasting blood, his back is in agony.  Halverstone sighs, shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head.  "Pick him up and put him back at the beginning.  We'll start again."

Charles almost… almost strikes at him mentally.  And he almost takes one of the nurses' bodies, can imagine raising his fist and smashing it into the doctor's face.  His hand shakes, twitches towards his temple.  Then he relaxes.  

"No."  He's saying it as much to himself as to the men.  When the nurses try to haul him up, he goes limp.  "No.  I'm not doing anymore.  Not today."

Gentle, horrible pity from one, satisfaction from the other.  

"You can't give up," says Halverstone.  "You will fall again, you have to keep going.  You don't give up on your research after a day or two, do you?"

It's a good point.  Charles shakes his head but it's a dual answer.  He leans back and they lower him to the floor.  He closes his eyes, feels the suicide nurse leave with one final thought _\- Twenty years ago, they did the decent thing, let them pass away quietly on morphine._   He feels Halverstone's disappointment, slight contempt, departure.  The sympathetic nurse remains.  Thinks about soup.  

After a moment Charles opens his eyes.  The man is sitting in Charles' wheelchair, gazing at the wall, then his toes.  He glances at Charles, who nods and tries to sit up.  The bracing makes it hard.  The man kneels down and starts to untrap Charles' legs.  Charles watches.  

He says, "It's as though you're doing it to someone else."

"I s'pose you'll get used to it.  In the end."

Will I? wonders Charles.  "I don't want to."

"Don't blame you."

Charles lies back and closes his eyes.  The man works silently.  Charles assumes he's working.  He can hear the click of metal.  Occasionally his upper body shifts with whatever piece of bracing is being removed.  

"All done," says the nurse.  

Charles drags himself up until he's sitting.  The nurse pushes the wheelchair next to him, puts on the brakes.  He reaches out to pull himself up.  His body and arms complain but he grits his teeth and heaves.  The nurse waits while Charles pulls and grunts and tries to manoeuvre himself off the floor.  He can't stand being watched and thinks about giving the other man a small mental nudge to leave the room but he isn't sure he has the focus to do it subtly.  

Finally, he's ensconced in the chair, panting.  The nurse says, "When you've had a shower, I'll give you a massage.  Do you need any help to manage the shower?"

Now he offers to help.  "No.  I've mostly got the trick of it.  Anyway, you should be getting home for your tea."

"It's all right, I can wait.  It's probably just kippers again.  You can go off kippers, you know.  If you have them four nights a week, and kedgeree the others."

Charles grimaces.  "I can imagine."  He reaches to wheel himself out of the gym, but the man starts pushing him first.  Charles doesn't mind.  

\---------------

After dinner - lemon sole, as it happens - Charles withdraws to his room.  He picks up a book, a journal, can't concentrate on either of them.  The curtains are closed and it seems too much effort to open them in order to stare into the dark.  

Just as he resigns himself to bed, there is a knock.  Halverstone.  Charles hesitates.  Ignoring the man seems childish so he says, "Come in."

Halverstone is pleased with himself.  "Good news, Professor.  You can have tomorrow off."

A day of doing nothing doesn't sound attractive to Charles.  "I'd rather plough on with my therapy, doctor.  And to be honest, for the next few days, I'd rather focus on the practical, than the hopeful.  I'm not saying I won't try again, but I've made actual progress with the occupational therapy.  A couple more victories there might give me the determination to try again with the bracing."

"Yes, yes, certainly.  But I don't mean for you to lie around here, no.  I thought you could go out.  I've contacted your mother and she's happy to take you for an outing tomorrow.  You'll enjoy that."

Charles reflects on those phrases for a moment, slightly surprised, because Halverstone has never been quite so condescending before.  "Thank you, doctor.  That's considerate of you, though I would have preferred to make the arrangements myself."

"Of course.  I'm sorry.  Somewhat high-handed of me but I wasn't sure what mood you'd be in."

Charles knows the apology isn't entirely sincere but he lets it go.  Excitement is growing at the thought of getting out for a day.  He wonders whether Erik will be back from his European jaunt.  He must be by now.  They'll be able to take a trip around London, perhaps go to a museum and have a meal.  Chess, certainly.  He smiles.  

"A much better mood, now."

"Good.  Enjoy tomorrow."

\---------------

He fumbles dressing because he's trying to do it too fast.  If he wore the casual clothes he was using before, it would be easier, but he wants to be dressed up for this.  A nurse helps him but he politely rejects her attempts to tie his tie and pull on his jacket.  He can at least do those himself.  

He gulps down his breakfast, not paying much attention to Muffy and Rowe's breakfast conversation.  He swigs the last of his juice, wipes his mouth and throws the napkin down.  "I must be off."  He can't helping smiling at those words.  

Muffy smiles with him but Rowe is slightly reserved.  He says, "Don't ...  let it get to you.  Today.  It might not be all you hope.  Ignore the awkwardness and take pleasure where you can."

"I intend to," says Charles, rather irritated that Rowe should want to cloud the day.  

In the hall, Ma and Raven are waiting, Pevensey hovering behind them.  Charles puts aside his disappointment.  It will still be a good day.  They greet him effusively and he can kiss them both without pain.  They are as excited as he is.  A nurse comes out with them to help him transfer into the Daimler and to show the chauffeur how to fold the chair.  

It is a cold day and overcast, but Charles thinks it's beautiful.  

"We thought we might go to Kew, first," says Ma.  "Spend some time outside, though I hope the rain holds off.  Then lunch at the Ritz and Raven suggests the Science Museum, apparently Dr Michaels and Dr McCoy have been spending a lot of time there, but you probably already know about everything there.  So I thought of the V&A because they're having an exhibition on Victorian Fashion that I'd like to go to but Raven said no, … "

 _Thanks_ , Charles says to Raven.  

 _You're welcome.  We'll have ladies' day out tomorrow.  Angel already loves the V &A_.  

"… and she said we should take you to Foyle's but I can't imagine you'd want to spend your day out in a bookshop.  And so I suggested the zoo but Raven pointed out you don't like the animals' distress, which I'd forgotten, most difficult, I like the zoo, are you sure the elephants don't?"

"Very sure.  They're intelligent, emotional creatures, Ma, and they shouldn't be caged or hunted."

"Quite, and then Raven suggested we take you to the dogs, which I think," she aims a severe face at her daughter, "must have been a joke."

Raven makes an enigmatic face back, while she and Charles share the memory of sneaking out to go the greyhound races, the most scurrilous place Charles would agree to take her, and perjuring themselves awfully when they got home.  

"He likes going to the races," says Raven, "and horses don't race in London, so dogs it is."

"So we thought we'd ask you what you'd like to do."

Charles is almost overwhelmed by the possibilities, especially since this is London.  He chooses, "Kew and the Ritz, certainly.  ...  and then supper and a wander through Covent Garden.  I want to be out as late as I can."

"You must have your rest."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"Don't say such a wicked thing!"

Charles is surprised by her vehemence.  He can feel the upset in her chest.  He takes her hand.  "Sorry.  That was a trifle close to the bone."

She squeezes his hand.  "It's a bit soon for gallows humour."  She relaxes then, "Don't disappear again.  Let me know in future."

"I will."  After a moment, he says, "Any word from Erik?"

Ma stops calming down and tenses with indignation.  Raven squeezes with misery and worry.  It makes him fearful and he tries to delve into their minds.  

 _What's wrong?_   He searches but to his relief it's only ...  

"Nothing," says Ma, in answer to his first question.  "Not one."

"Oh.  He's probably just busy.  He wanted to draw together some money and see if he could get a line on Shaw's assets and people.  It won't be easy."

"It doesn't take long to write a postcard.  'Rome lovely, weather fine, wish you were here.' "

"And three months to arrive."

"Darling, I'm afraid you'll both have to accept that he's following his own plans now."

Raven says, "No.  No Charles is right.  How could he contact us? It costs a lot to call and the post takes weeks ..."

"Telegram," says Ma.  

"Oh," says Raven.  

"'Rome lovely stop Weather fine stop Wish you were here stop.  Less than twelve words."

"Ma, enough.  Erik isn't used to keeping other people informed.  It probably hasn't occurred to him that we might worry."

Raven is comforted and Ma thinks he's being to easy on Erik.  Charles wishes he had a better range.  Once Cerebro is built, when Erik leaves, will he still let Charles contact him?

\---------------

He still finds the transfer from car to chair very awkward and Ma directs Stevens to help him.  Raven buys their tickets.  When they try to enter, they realise there's a turnstile.  After some discussion, during which the staff talk to Ma and not him, they let him in through a side gate. 

It is a pleasant morning, but he can't handle it as well as he'd hoped.  Gravel is a problem, he'll need to design a better wheelchair.  He can't go up the slopes very well, he's not strong enough yet.  He resolves to work hard with the weights and feels embarrassed as Raven pushes him up, needling him about his weight.  He wants to go into the hothouses but there is one tiny step in the way, a thin low part of the doorframe.  Raven tips him up and down over it and they try to make their way along the narrow paths.  It seems that each time he's starting to enjoy himself, unworthy obstacles prod at him like imps.  

But it is a pleasant morning.  When they want to leave, Pevensey runs ahead to find someone to let them out.  

The Daimler is waiting.  The transfer goes a little more smoothly, but he still needs Stevens' help.  

Before they reach the Ritz, he remembers you have to go up steps to get in.  They find another restaurant where he has to go in through the kitchen and they have to move tables and chairs to let him approach a table.  He makes a joke of it, Raven helps.  Ma gets indignant.  He doesn't point out that she never thought of it before, none of them did.  He ignores the stares, though it's harder to do, and he closes off the minds.  The waiter looks surprised when he orders for himself.  Charles tells himself to get used to it.  Part of himself asks if, after two world wars, London shouldn't be used to wheelchair users.  Apparently not.  He remembers the thoughts of the suicide nurse - ' _twenty years ago, they let them pass away quietly on morphine._ '  He shudders.

The meal is going well until he's talking to Raven and hears the waiter say to Ma, "Has he finished?"

His head jerks back and he fixes the man with a glare.  "No, I haven't."

The man flushes and backs away.  Charles takes his time to finish.  He wants to pay for the meal but he has no money.  He gave it all before to Erik and Raven.  Stupid.  He'll make sure he has some in future.  

As he finishes his coffee, he is quiet, trying to think of somewhere to go where there are no steps.  Isn't that all the museums and galleries out?  Maybe the National Gallery, he thinks the entrance is on the flat and surely they have lifts.  He also wonders, guiltily, about calling over the two MI5 agents who have been following them, and getting them to lift him around.  He supposes it's better not to draw attention to them.

The National comes up trumps on lifts.  He just wishes he had more interest in art.  Still, he enjoys himself, listening to Raven, lifting his mood a little on her enjoyment.  The three of them talk easily here and when they run out of things to say about the pictures, they talk nonsense about the people in them or rubbish the still-lifes.

The first restaurant they go to for dinner refuses to let him in.  Ma starts to bluster, Raven gives them a piece of her mind.  Charles feels he ought to be indignant but the good mood is slipping away and a great weariness is spreading through him.  He calls them gently away.  Hearing him speak, the manager is surprised, feels a mite apologetic, but doesn't sway.  Another restaurant lets them in, through the kitchen again, and Charles eats quietly, not tasting much.  Then they set out, as he asked, to wander round Covent Garden.  He knows even as they leave the restaurant, that it's a mistake.

Curbs.  Small steps all over the place.  They take one look at a lane of cobblestones and turn away.  Crowds are awkward, he can't manoeuvre himself through them and when Raven pushes him, it seems to worsen people's attitude to him.  They resent having to move for him.  Many people don't notice him, he doesn't exist for them.  Many slide their eyes away.  Some look in contempt or disgust.  

One man spits at him.  Ma rises up in rage and Charles grabs her wrist, won't let her.  He pulls out his handkerchief, cleans himself.  Crushes it in his hand.  He won't leave, won't give them the satisfaction.  He wishes saying 'let's go' wouldn't be cowardice.  He wishes he could think of somewhere he wants to be.  The club!  No.  He can't get in without Erik.  Or maybe there is a way but…

He sighs.  Tries, once again to pull up a good mood because being pushed around with a glare on his face won't help anyone.  He wants to buy a bunch of flowers for Raven, she's worked like a navvy today and her back must be aching.  He has no money.

They sit and stand in the portico of St Paul's Church.  Ma says, "I shall have a number of letters to write tomorrow."

Charles is caught between typical offspring embarrassment and a desire to have a world, or at least a country, that he can live in.

Raven looks at him.  "It's been a good day.  Hasn't it?"

Ma says, "I enjoyed the Botticelli exhibition and Kew is always lovely, even at this time of year."

Charles puts together a smile.  "Yes."  He can't maintain it.

Raven says, "We've learned a few things.  We're going to need to plan more next time."

"Yes."  He makes an effort.  "We know Oxford better, anyway."

"Right, and the quads are mostly flat.  If the porters open the gates, you'll be able to get in and out easily."

"Yes.  And the department is preparing a lab adapted for me."

"There you go.  Who needs London?  Oxford and Cambridge are superior anyway."

"Exactly.  What?  Cambridge?!"

"They'll want you to do some visiting professoring when we go public…"

Ma shudders.

"… and I was enquiring about that neuroscientist you mentioned, Dr Myles.  He's at Cambridge."

"I thought he was at Birkbeck."

"He moved over the summer."

"Damn."  He taps his fingers on the arm of his chair.  "This will require some finesse."

"Uh oh."

He looks up at her.  "Are you implying I can't do finesse?"

"I've heard your chat-up line."

"It works!"

"Yeah, I've never understood that."

He looks smug.  "It's all in the delivery."

Ma says, "I really don't understand your hostility to Cambridge, after all it was founded by Oxford scholars, and it has as fine a history of scientific and scholarly endeavour as Oxford, in fact moreso in science, I've heard."

"That's a complete lie."

"And they were the first to admit women."

"We made women _full_ scholars in 1920.  They only got around to it in 1947.  And," he plays his ace before she can continue this awful attempt at balance and fairness, "Oxford had Dorothy L Sayers."

Ma bows to this invocation of her favourite author.

Raven looks at him slyly.  "Cambridge had Darwin and Newton."

Charles scowls.

"Oxford," says Ma, with great dignity, "has Charles."

Charles shouts with laughter.  Ma smiles in victory.

Raven says, "Oxford's triumph is complete.  It's a good thing Erik didn't go to Cambridge."

"Don't even suggest it," laughs Charles.

It starts to rain.  Not a sudden downpour that will drain itself in a few minutes, but a steady wash that could last all night.  Eventually, they have to walk through it to where they are meeting the car and they can't run or hop in and out of shelter.  And for some reason, no-one had an umbrella.  "The weather forecast," says Ma.  Charles wonders if any of them are really English.  But then, he never used to mind rain.

They return to the clinic.  Despite the trials of the day he doesn't want to be left there.  He resigns himself to it.  It wasn't, he tells himself, that bad a day.  They say goodbye and he winces inside when he realises that tiny parts of Raven and Ma are looking forward to being able to go round the V&A tomorrow, without having to deal with a wheelchair.  He just manages to remain polite and to thank them for a lovely day.  He pleads tiredness, feels guilty because it's not their fault.  They love him, he feels that as they hug him goodbye.  They were glad to see him and he them.

He understands what Rowe meant, tries to follow his advice.

He lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling.  A chill settles inside him.  Where is Erik with that escape plan?


	35. Wherein Gus is faced with Thanksgiving

**Gus**

Gus's watch ticks down the seconds.  At two minutes forty-five, he cuts in and says, "Mom, I gotta go.  I love you.  Give my love to Dad and Becky."

"I love you to, Auggy.  Look after yourself."

The operator asks, "Would you like another three minutes?"

"No, thank you."

The telephone clicks off and Gus slowly puts down the receiver, telling himself to look on the bright side.  His family are fine.  The government is certain he was kidnapped, so they aren't hassling them for information.  It's good to know.  Of course he misses them.  He tries not to wonder if he'll ever see them again.

"Come in."

Raven and Mrs Marko-Xavier are sitting by the fire.  Raven is herself, though clothed - a habit these days - and there's a definite tension between them.

Gus says, "Thank you very much for allowing that, ma'am.  It's very kind of you."

"Have you finished already?"  Asks Mrs Marko-Xavier.

Raven asks, "How are your family?"

"They're fine."

She looks relieved.  "Good."

"Yeah."  He tries to be upbeat.  "They're planning for Thanksgiving."

Mrs Marko-Xavier says, "You'll be home in time for that, won't you?  I'm sure they'll be glad to see you, I feel for your poor mother, I know just how she feels to have a son disappear and no word, that's why I offered the telephone, of course.  At least you'll return in better shape than poor Charles, though I do commend and thank you for the devotion you've shown to him, indeed to the young people as well.  I'll pay you before you leave."

"That's not necessary, ma'am."

"Oh, you must accept!  You might not have a job when you get back."

"Ma!"

"Well, I suppose you haven't been gone that long, and Lehnsherr forced you so you should be fine in vis-à-vis your government and employers, but I'll certainly pay you…"

"Really, ma'am."  Gus flushed slightly at interrupting.  "I'm very grateful for the offer but I can't accept.  I wasn't forced."

She looked at him doubtfully.  "Did Lehnsherr…?"

Raven stood.  "We have to go.  We're meeting the others and going to a movie this afternoon.  Bye, Mom."  She wavers a moment and bends down to give her mother a cursory peck on the cheek.  Then she wheels round and sweeps him up in her flow.

"Bye, ma'am," Gus says as he's hustled out.  "Thank you again."

Mrs Marko-Xavier raises a hand.  He sees a look of surprise and dismay then the door closes.

Raven changes in the hall and they go out into the rain.  

"I'm sorry about that.  She doesn't mean to be rude."

Gus pushes his glasses up and says, "It's OK.  It was a kind offer, I appreciate it."

"You don't have to.  I can't believe she doesn't see how that would cheapen everything.  You don't pay people for their friendship!  Come on, where are we meeting them?"

"Leicester Square."

"That's pronounced 'lester', not 'lycester'."

"The British just love useless letters, don't they?"

"It's the French in us.  Do I dare ask what we're seeing?"

"Dr No."

"Argh.  Again?"

"They have hormones.  And they've persuaded Hank to come."

"Good.  It's about time he widened his range."

"I just hope they haven't overstated Ursula Andress' charms to him.  He might be disappointed."

"He lived underground for the last four years, barely seeing women.  He'd find Hattie Jacques sexy.  Huh."  She looks downcast.

"What?"

"A guy who lived in a bunker for four years didn't find the real me attractive."

"Aw, hey."

"Maybe I need to go for a blind guy.  Though I'd probably find my skin says something rude in braille."

"Don't take it that way.  Guys are dumb.  Especially at that age.  You're, um," he blushes, "well, you're beautiful.  And I'm not just talking about your personality."

She snorts.  "You're sweet, Gus.  But no.  I'm not beautiful.  No artist is going to paint my portrait."

"You haven't met enough artists.  They'll be falling over themselves."

"Dali or Picasso, maybe."

"Go see those guys then.  That wasn't tactful, was it?  It didn't mean, I mean, I don't agree, I mean…"

"It's OK.  I should work with what I've got, yes?"

"Yeah.  And what you've got is pretty good.  You're unusual, yeah.  But that's not ugly.  And, you might think this is cliché but it's true what they say about inner beauty.  I met this socialite once at a hospital fundraiser and she was classically gorgeous, well, not classically, not like ancient statues …"

"I get it, she was hot."

"Right, but she had this permanent sneer, like sulphur under her nose and she was a total bitch.  And there was this nurse with these burn scars on her face and she probably wouldn't have won Miss America even without, but she was kind and good-humoured and everyone loved her and thought she was beautiful.  She's married to a good guy and they got two great kids while Miss Socialite is on her third husband and miserable."

"You read the gossip columns."

"Nurse Campbell reads the gossip columns to everyone.  'Specially the bits about people connected to the hospital."

"Ah.  Nice save."

"So.  You'll find a guy who doesn't just look at the surface."

"Like Erik," she says with a ditzy smile.

Gus does not express his immediate opinion, which is more of a choke anyway.  He also doesn't express his second opinion, which is that Erik is only looking at the surface, only he's doing it from the other direction than everyone else.  Instead he decides to be a friend.  "Yeah.  Like Erik."  

He wants to say more, always wants to say more to warn her off, but he can't spoil the good feeling between them.  He will simply be there for her.  And hey, maybe he'll turn out to be wrong.  If he is, he'll be happy.  For her.  Gus is firmly of the opinion that Raven deserves every happiness.

The three boys and Angel are waiting outside the cinema, sheltering under the lintel.  They're chatting, Angel and Alex seem to be arguing, as usual, though these days they seem to have found some boundaries, so it's more a sibling squabble than a real fight.  

Hank is wearing a long coat and hat but he's not shrinking or trying to hide behind people smaller than him.  Their visits to the Science Museum have helped him gain acceptance for the staring.  He doesn't bother to notice it now.

Raven walks up to them.  "Dr No?  Haven't you already seen it?"

Sean says, "There's no limit on the number of times I could watch it."

"It could be worse," says Angel, "it was almost 'King Kong vs Godzilla'."

Alex protests. "That's going to be an epic battle.  I guess it's not something that chicks can appreciate."

"I'll tell you what this chick can appreciate," says Angel.  "Sean Connery and Ursula Andress in one film.  Let's go."

\---------------

They trot back to the hotel through the misty rain, the young people running ahead before detouring to play in the Trafalgar Square fountain.  Gus asks Raven, "You don't want to get wet?"

"They're just going to get chased by the bobbies."

"Maybe we should try to stop them."

"No.  Oh, there they go," as Angel and Sean fly - though not literally - across the road with Alex and Hank a few steps behind.  Car horns sound and a policeman yells.  They get across the road and the cop gives up the chase.  Gus and Raven walk on sedately  "See?"

"I thought Hank was faster than the others."

"I think he's reverted to holding back.  I hope Charles will be able to get through to him again."

"I'm sure he will."

They stride on in silence for a few minutes then Raven says, "So.  You're leaving."  It hovers somewhere between a question and a statement.

"I guess.  I mean, yes.  The Professor doesn't need me anymore.  I'll finish your first aid training before I go, of course."

"Good.  It's been fun."

"Turning people into mummies always is.  And, you know, we haven't been to the theatre yet.  Someone's gotta be playing Shakespeare in this town."  He hopes it won't be Romeo and Juliet.

Raven looks delighted.  "Let's find out.  We'll buy a paper and see what's on."

They get the Times and pour over the theatre page in Gus's room.  Raven stabs a finger.  "Yes!  Much Ado About Nothing at the Vaudeville.  You'll love it.  Let's go."

"What, now?"

"We might get some returns.  We can have a late supper."

"Should we ask the others if they want to go?  I don't like to leave Hank alone to brood and it would be good for the boys.  They're not getting much in the way of education at the moment."

"OK.  We can try and improve their culture."

Angel is happy to go.  Hank needs some prodding but concedes he has nothing better to do.  Sean is persuaded that 'girls like a guy who knows some poetry'.  Alex goes rather than be the only one left behind.

They get some weird looks in the foyer of the theatre but Raven, Hank, Alex and Sean are too deep in an argument over understanding Shakespearean language to notice.  Raven insists that watching a performance makes it much easier to understand.  "You'll see soon."

They get a pair of seats on the far right, two singles at the back, and a pair in the middle behind a column.  Then the negotiation starts.

"I'm not sitting next to him," Angel points at Alex, "he'll drive me crazy all through."

"I need someone to explain it to me," says Sean.

"You'll just have to do the best you can," says Raven, "you can't talk in the theatre.  Ask me afterwards."

"I'm gonna sit at the back," says Alex. "That way, if I'm bored, I can just hop over the back and leave."

"I'll take the other back seat," says Hank.  "I won't block anyone's view."

"OK, Raven, which of these do you want?" Asks Gus.  "You're the one who's gonna enjoy this the most."

"I hope you'll all enjoy it."

"Fine, chica," says Angel, "but you're the only one who's sure of it.  So choose."

Raven hesitates then says, "The right.  Who'll join me?"

Gus tries not to look hopeful or put himself forward.  She might want to sit with Angel, they are girl friends after all.  He speaks up, "Why don't I sit with Sean?  Then, um, I can help him, or, uh, smuggle us out, if need be."

"I'll sit with Sean," says Angel.  "You've got a better chance of enjoying this than me."

"Oh, I don't know about that."

"Please, Gus," says Raven, "I want to share Shakespeare with you.  We agreed, remember?  And if you really are leaving us, this might our last chance."

The others are startled.  Hank says, "You're leaving?"

"Well, uh, not right … I mean, not soon.  I thought I'd wait until Lehnsherr gets back."

Raven says, "Gus's family are worried and unlike the rest of you, he can actually go back to them.  It wouldn't be fair to stop him, especially since we kind of kidnapped him in the first place."

"That's not true," says Gus, "I chose to come.  I wanted to."

"I know.  And we couldn't have done this without you.  Charles couldn't have managed and I know he's so grateful.  And we'll miss you.  But your family miss you more and, like you said, your Mom's worried.  Charles can manage now, Erik and I will be there for him."

"All of us will," says Alex.

Hank says, "We're getting the manor sorted and I'll carry him anywhere he needs."

Gus tries to smile but can't help feeling crestfallen.  He knows they're trying to be nice and that he should be happy to be able to go home.  They would, if they could.   He puts a brave face on it.  "If Lehnsherr hurries up, I could be home for Thanksgiving."

"Yeah," says Alex.

Then they all look a little sad.  Angel says, "My flatmate Julia always tried to do a big Thanksgiving meal but she could never get the timing down.  We'd spend all afternoon eating, 'cause there'd only be two dishes ready at any time.  Like, starting with the beans and the sweet potatoes and then a little later the pumpkin pie and then the turkey would be ready and then she'd have space in the oven to cook the tater tots."

"My Mom had it down pat," says Hank.  "The only people allowed in the kitchen on Thanksgiving were Mom and her sister, the rest of us had to keep out.  We'd sit and play cards and then we'd have to clear everything up fast when they started bringing out the food, and we'd rush to help carry."

Sean says, "I'd never know where we were going for Thanksgiving.  We hosted it a couple times and then we'd spend years going to my grandparents or aunts or uncles, all the family squashing in and spilling into the garden, even if it was really cold."

"My last Thanksgiving was in prison.  I'm expecting something better this year," says Alex.  "We'll have our own Thanksgiving.  We got a lot to be thankful for."

They cheered up a bit.  "I guess we do," says Angel.

"We can try," says Raven, "but we'll have to start organising it now to be sure we can get everything."  A bell rings in the foyer.  "Come on, that's the last bell.  We need to get to our seats."

They split off and go their ways.  Gus sits next to Raven in the dark and tries to concentrate on the play.  He wants to enjoy it for her sake.  To his surprise, it's actually quite funny and he lets it distract him from his regret.


	36. In which Charles is lost and found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for the young or non-British : it used to be in Britain that raising your index and middle fingers in a v-shape with their backs to another person, like a victory sign but backwards, was a rude gesture. Raising two fingers has now largely been replaced with a single finger. I quite miss the old gesture, though not pointed at me, of course. The false legend behind it is that during the Hundred Years War, the English longbow archers were a major part of England's success so when the French caught an English archer, they would cut his drawing fingers off. The English archers would therefore wave their still-attached drawing fingers up and down at the French as a taunt and a threat. I know this isn't true but I still like it. Just showing the sign of a penis doesn't seem to compare.

**Charles**

Charles is lying in darkness.  There is a knock at the door, he doesn't answer.  He doesn't even know if he still has a voice.

Another knock.

The third is accompanied by a voice of mock-cheer.  "Professor Xavier?  It's time for your morning session."

Charles thinks of nothing.  A spear of light and the nurse fusses in.  He closes his eyes against both.  There are no locks on the doors, even the bathroom.  He hears the curtains being drawn. 

"It's a miserable day, I'm afraid.  Still, there's lots to do."  She shakes his shoulder.  The physical contact causes a brief mental image to flash through the telepathic mist.  Her mind is irksome;  it is all patronising, false cheer over bland disregard, like an oil slick rainbow on a muddy puddle.   He pulls his telepathy back even further and the mist thickens, blanketing him.  

She tries to lift him from the bed but he is limp and she leaves.  

He opens his eyes.  The day is storm dark, barely changed from the night.  He didn't sleep well so he shuts his eyes and tries to sleep again.

After a while, Dr Halverstone is there.  He sits and talks gently but Charles doesn't listen, doesn't open his eyes.  In the end, he feels a pat on the shoulder.  "Professor?  Don't sleep now, you won't sleep tonight."

"I don't sleep anyway."

"I'll have the nurse bring you a couple of pills each evening."

He doesn't acknowledge this.

Halverstone stays for a while longer, then the vague presence of his mind moves away and is swallowed by the fog.  

\---------------

Sometimes, thoughts spin through his head about their powers.  Those are better times.  But he can't act on his ideas.  He's stuck here, unable to move, frozen.  

He closes his eyes and tries to dream of sunlight, imagining meeting Erik for the first time in a pub in Oxford, late spring, no Shaw to chase, no-one to evade, just a happy, serendipitous meeting and long days afterwards, growing easily closer.  What if, what if, if only.

He can't make it work, of course, but sometimes it sparks pleasant night dreams which ease things, for a while.

\---------------

He never before understand the ninth circle of Hell in Dante's Inferno.  He didn't see how it could be worse to be frozen than on fire.  You would be numb, surely.  Feeling no pain, feeling nothing.

Feeling nothing.  Now he understands.  His legs and his lap are encased in ice.  The rest of his body seems to be succumbing too.  For all he can still move and has tactile sensation, nevertheless, the ice lies heavy on him, smothering his fire, chilling him, numbing him, sealing him away.  

\---------------

He wishes Ma would leave him alone.  

He wishes she'd understand that he can't just turn happiness on.  There's nothing in him, she can't see.  

When she comes, he will wash and dress, sit in the chair, but he can't find many words.  Her mind is distressed, sometimes it's almost frantic, and he can't block her, her voice screams through the fog and echoes off the ice, turning it to shards that cut him.  He wishes he could be as she wants, wishes he could reassure her and return _her_ happiness at least.

He makes a Herculean effort to seem like his old self.  It works for perhaps five minutes and then bitter, cold words start to come through and he knows that's wrong.  She's not fooled.  He has nothing else to offer her.  The time is torture until she goes.

\---------------

Raven shares some gossip.  Lots of people are asking after him.  He supposes that's nice.  She asks him to come to their Thanksgiving meal.  He offers his regrets.

She worries about him but not too much.  She's done this herself.  Some days she would refuse to get out of bed, and he'd offer to bring her something to eat but she wouldn't want it.  She'd get up eventually and sit around in her bathrobe, chain-smoking while listening to the wireless, or scoffing whatever sweets he'd provide while reading Siegfried Sassoon or Thomas Hardy.  She'd sit up late into the night, staring at the wall and spilling bitter comments at anything he said until he shut up and got on with his work or went to bed.  He'd find her still there in the early morning, and wouldn't know if she'd got up early in restlessness or hadn't been to bed at all.  She wouldn't tell him, would just shrug, not speak, return to Sophocles or Wuthering Heights.  

Eventually it would pass.  He holds onto that.  It is a candle that flickers in the bitter dark.

When she leaves, she puts the wireless on for him.  

\---------------

He does remember how he used to be.  He can see himself in his memories.  He watches through a thick wall of ice and knows he is watching an entirely separate person, who died on the beach.  He isn't sure who he betrayed to be set in ice in the lowest circle.  Moira, perhaps.  A friend he left behind to be punished for their mistakes.

\---------------

Sometimes, it's more effort to ignore the nurses and therapists than just to go along with what they want.  There's a different nurse now, Nurse Penn, petite and fierce and honestly cheerful.  She makes him think of holly - sharp leaves and bright berries, a wreath defiant to his winter.  She must have earned a first in chivvying because he finds himself at therapy sessions more often than he thinks he's capable of.  

When the male nurse, the kipper man, comes to get him, he physically lifts Charles out of bed, oblivious, like the sun, of the arctic world beneath the clouds.  So Charles does wash and dress and he does go through the motions.  He doesn't think he's learning anything, but the staff seem happy enough.

\---------------

Dr Michaels comes to see him to say goodbye.  He says thank you and offers his good wishes.  He assures Charles that he'll feel better in time.  Then he talks about Thanksgiving, about how he wants to be home for it.  Charles' telepathy may be hazy at the moment but he can still spot a lie from twenty paces.

Michaels runs down, pauses, slaps his knees before standing.  Charles raises a husky voice.  "Dr Michaels."

The answer is gentle, "Yes, Professor?"

"Do you want to leave?"

A pause, then softly, "No."

"Then stay.  We'd like you to stay."

Another pause.  "Thank you.  I'd like that too."

Charles nods.  "Good."  He turns away to stare out the window at the entrenched rain.  Michaels pulls out a scientific journal and starts to read aloud an article about a mitochondrial study, his voice rather stronger than when he arrived.

\---------------

He doesn't sleep much.  They won't let him sleep in the day and it's rare that he sleeps all through the night.  Though he goes to bed tired and aching from the day's therapy, he wakes up in the small hours and lies awake, mourning himself and the future that he's lost.  

He berates himself for every bad choice he made.  Over and over he thinks of each wrong decision and what he should have done - not revealed themselves to the CIA, no they had to, didn't they?  Should they have pursued Shaw themselves, separately?  No, how would they have access to the information?  Should he have let Erik go that night?  He aches over that one.  Could Erik have survived against Shaw alone?  Possibly.  Erik knew by then what Shaw was capable of and would have had a better plan.  

Should they have stayed with the CIA and carried out their attack under the auspices of the American government, so there would have been no doubt as to their intentions?

That one haunts him.  

Should he have let Erik destroy the ships?  He wonders and wonders.  Would it have mattered?  It seemed important at the time.

He thinks … it still does.  It still does matter.

\---------------

Dr Michaels is a restful presence.  He talks a little about the young people and some of the sightseeing they've been doing.  He's trying to keep Alex and Sean busy and out of trouble.  

He reads to Charles from scientific journals, pausing occasionally to carry on one-sided conversations about the latest discoveries.  He has a way of picking out some interesting things that Charles can't quite stay apathetic about.  The best, which Michaels reads with apparent glee - Charles can barely sense strong emotions now - , is a scathing article debunking all notions of ESP or telepathy, and decrying any waste of scientific time or money on such pie in the sky.  Michaels points out that pie in the sky is also now not such a crazy idea and asks Charles when they can have some flying pigs.  Apparently those will win him a date with some cheerleader called Candace Perkins from his college days.  

That night Charles dreams of flight.  Erik and Angel are hovering in the sky, she holding a pie aloft while he slices it with several flashing blades.  Sean swoops in circles around them, waiting for his slice, pursued by a group of madly flapping, bouncing pigs.  Charles telepathically points out to Sean that if he stuffs pie in his mouth, he will plummet to his death.  Sean swoops down to pick up Alex, as they did in Cuba, but this time they rise up higher so Alex can have a share of pie too.  Raven shifts into a real raven and flies up to perch on Erik's shoulder.  Hank grows giant, blue wings and produces a gale as he lifts upwards.  Charles is left alone on the ground, buffeted, looking up at them.  Erik is in his helmet, looking down and Charles has no idea whether Erik will come to him, will raise him up, and he wakes before he finds out.  

\---------------

It is December.  Erik has been away for twenty-five days now and Charles has no idea where to send anyone to search for him.  He curses himself for not hiding as Erik wanted.  If anything has happened to Erik ...   The ice burns him in vicious cold.  Erik.  He betrayed Erik.  That is why he is condemned to be immobile in ice, frost in his bones, winter stealing the light.

\---------------

The others don't come to visit him.  He is grateful for that.  

He is glad for Angel.  She has a goal and she's working towards it.  She's found a jewellery course and is starting to sketch out her own ideas.  

He wishes he could help Hank, who has good days and bad, but he can't even help himself, so what good is he?  All his fiery words before coming to this place are now ash in his mouth.  

Ma and Dr Michaels have taken on responsibility for Alex and Sean.  Ma has engaged a tutor for them, only three days a week on Dr Michaels' suggestion, and they spend a lot of time out and about, learning history where it happened and making use of the Natural History, Science and British museums.  Michaels accompanies them to snooker clubs and they've found a group who play five-a-side football on Clapham Common once a week.  Alex has come close to a couple of confrontations in his exploration of London.  It seems he doesn't fit in with either the mods or the rockers.  

He should worry about them, he should be engaging with them and training them but what use can he be here?  Or anywhere?  He can't challenge anyone to a race, can't dodge, can't climb a satellite dish.  He can't even climb stairs.  Frozen, frozen.

He promised them so much and he's failed them.  

\---------------

Muffy and Rowe visit him every day.  Not for long but they do leave him feeling not better, but at least a tad hopeful.  Like a light in a distant window when a blizzard is howling.  This will end.  In time, he will find a reason to get on with his life.  

\---------------

He is out in the desolate garden, now just bare earth and sticks.  He thinks there are skeletal hands, broken phalanges and filthy ulnas rising out of the ground.  He stares hard to remind himself they are just dead stalks.  

There is a blanket on his knees and one over his shoulders.  Someone believes in fresh air, whatever the temperature.  His breath clouds as it leaves him.  They say it will be a terrible winter, sweeping towards them from Siberia.  

He is staring blankly when warmth touches his wrist and that wonderful mind lights his mental plane, a fire burning in the darkness, burning the mental mist and melting the ice.  He focuses.  Erik is kneeling beside him, in a long coat and scarf, smiling at him.  

He breathes out and smiles back.  Something flutters and settles inside him and it occurs to him that the sun is shining and the light is gilding Erik's hair.  

\---------------

He notices that he is edging the wheelchair back and forth, a habit he's developed in recent weeks when he's keyed up.  He never used to be fidgety.

"How was Europe?"

"I achieved my aims.  Most of Shaw's assets have been taken by Frost but I managed to acquire some of them.  He has houses in Monaco, Sicily and Vienna, all empty at the moment, and I think there is another in Kiev and a large dacha a few miles from Leningrad.  I didn't travel to check, but I doubt they'll go so near Russian influence yet."

"Intelligent people don't throw themselves into the hands of the enemies."  Charles means to smile as he says it but his face doesn't respond.

"No," says Erik.  He looks at Charles carefully.  

Charles drops his eyes, wonders if Erik is wearing a new coat.

"How is the therapy?"

"Ongoing."

"Effective?"

"I suppose."  He tries to think of any progress since Erik left.  "I don't need help with transfers anymore.  I'm told my upper-body strength is improving."

"I can tell."

"Can you?"  Charles looks down at himself.

"Yes.  It's subtle but you're stronger.  I felt that when we shook hands."

"Oh."  Charles does feel vaguely cheered by that.

"And the rest?  How soon will you be out?"

He can't meet Erik's eyes.  "I don't know.  I've hit a wall with the wheelchair.  Literally, for the most part."  The joke doesn't really work.  "The rest is coming along, I suppose."

"Halverstone said it would be about three months.  You've only been here five weeks."

"Yes."

"And is there any sign of … improvement?"

"No."  They are silent a moment.  Charles takes a breath.  "Halverstone … seems to think that if he puts enough bracing on me, I should be able to walk with crutches.  Only it doesn't work.  Hasn't worked.  He thinks I just need to try harder."

"What do you think?"

"I … .  It's hard.  Of course it is.  I do better in the wheelchair but that's no use out.  We tried that.  It wasn't…  The world isn't built for wheelchairs.  But the bracing and the crutches - honestly, even if I could get the hang of it, I don't think they'll add much.  Drunken old men have more grace and poise."

"Then forget it."

Charles is surprised.  He was expecting to be told that he must push himself.  "It might get better.  You can come, if you want, to the next session and see what you think."  He doesn't much like the thought of falling on his face in front of Erik but perhaps he will see something that Charles is missing.

Erik is shaking his head and reaching into the large duffel bag at his feet.  "No point, not if it's going to extend your time here to no purpose.  I need you.  You can't linger here if there won't be any benefit."  He pulls out two metal leg braces, designed to cover Charles' feet, calves and thighs.  "Put these on.  Hank can adjust them but I want to see if they have any chance of working."

Charles looks at them while the words 'I need you' replay themselves in his head.  He moves himself onto the bed to fit the braces around his legs.  Erik locks the door and closes the curtains.  Charles fastens the straps and buckles then says, "Now what?"

"Now you try to keep your balance."  

Erik extends a hand.  Charles rises off the bed.  It's quite a challenge to keep his torso upright but he manages it while Erik draws him to float above the floor, and lets his legs drift down.  They both look at his body, his toes a couple of centimetres off the floor.  Then they raise their eyes to each other.  "How _does_ one walk?"

So for the next half hour they experiment with manipulating Charles' legs into an awkward gait.  It will take a lot of practice and if Erik can't find a way to do it that doesn't make him look like a puppeteer, it won't be happening in public.  Charles suggests they join a revue as a faux puppet act and Erik sags his legs to flop him on the floor.  Charles raises two fingers.  Erik turns him upside down.  Charles moves his two fingers towards his temple and raises an eyebrow towards the carpet.  He is laid gently on his back on the floor.

Erik stands over him.

"It might work," says Charles.  He smiles.  "It's a lot more fun than Halverstone's way."

"Of course."

"I'll tell him to try his experiments on another poor soul and I'll sort out the wheelchair manoeuvres, the rest of it."

"Good.  Has Raven started learning how to help you with your exercises?"

"Not yet.  They said she can do that in the last month.  You haven't seen her yet, then?"  He puts a hand up, requesting assistance.

"No."  Erik uses his strength to lift Charles's upper body and his power to raise his legs.  He settles him in the chair and kneels to undo the braces.

"The work has started on the manor, knocking things down, for the most part.  Ma left me a copy of the plans, if you want to see."  

"Good."  Erik finishes with the braces and follows Charles over to the desk.

They sit side by side, studying the plans, talking, debating, arguing from time to time - Charles would want nothing less - and when the nurse knocks for supper, he realises life is possible again.  The haze around his telepathy has cleared like mist in the sun.  He shivers for a moment, afraid.  Erik has so much power over him already.  That's not good.  

He wishes he knew how to stop feeling this way.  But he doesn't want to go back to how he was two hours ago.  He's not as he used be, but he thinks at last he can see the way out.  The thaw has begun.

\---------------

 


	37. In which Erik returns

**Erik**

Erik sips his wine in the dining-room of the Georges V, debating where to travel next, Rome or London?

It's his duty to return to London.  He has a responsibility to his brothers and sisters to see them safe and teach them how to protect themselves from humans.  He won't shirk that duty, he looks forward to it.  Besides, he's worried about them.  If the British government has turned on them, they'll need his help.  And if it hasn't, then they'll need him to stop them becoming complacent.  

But he won't deny it's easier to be alone.  

His life since the war has been solitary, the year he lived with Ambroos the exception.  And, truth be told, when he left London four weeks ago, he felt as though he started to breathe more freely.  There was no one else to worry about or take into account.  Moving one person is, of course, easier than eight.  He has no need now to depend on anyone else for anything.  He's back to safely relying on himself.

So he travelled Europe the old way, hunting along old pathways to find the remains of Schmidt's assets.  A familiar, simple life.  And he could go to Rome for a few days, check that palazzo.  He wants to find Frost, Riptide and Azazel, to mend whatever fences were smashed.  It's gutting that there should be a schism between mutants so soon.  And, they are still under the radar.  They could be his agents to prepare their hidden base while he talks the others round.  They could oversee the young people while he and Charles …  while he plans their next move and gathers other mutants.

Except something in him has changed.  He's not sure he's entirely happy about it.  He finds that he misses being open about his powers, even if it's just with a few people.  If pushed, he would admit that he misses the people themselves, a bit.  They were a random group, but he liked them.  Even if the boys irritated him sometimes.  Alex will become a useful lieutenant.  Hank's scientific skills will be invaluable, more, perhaps, than his mutancy.  And he misses Raven.  He liked talking to her, liked seeing her approach an acceptance of her own mutancy, a pleasure in it, even.

He swirls his wine and orders the cheese board.  The avoidance tactic doesn't work because Charles had quite a bit to say on the subject of American cheese.  Erik swallows a laugh at the memory of Charles' three-way reaction when Hank, wanting to help his new mentor with his cheese quest, suggested they take a trip sometime to the Mars Cheese Castle in Wisconsin.  They had, it seemed, up to ten types of cheese, and even cheese spreads, cheese logs and cheese in the shape of Wisconsin!

Erik had a terrible desire to take Charles to Wisconsin one day, as a surprise trip, just for his reaction.

He sighs.  Not point denying it.  He misses Charles the most.  He left, in part, to be away from Charles because being with him was starting to …  

He wonders if he should take a moment to visit Ambroos, while he's nearby.  He never told his old lover about himself.  Now he has something for comparison, he can see that being with Ambroos was just like being alone.  It might be worth it, though, to have some long, hard fucks, to satisfy and subdue this desire he is suffering from.  He doesn't want to become physically involved with Charles.  He has an uneasy feeling that that would obligate him in some way.  Bind him.  Not that it should.  It didn't with Ambroos, but then, this isn't the same.  That was … business.  This, he uncomfortably admits, is personal.  Perhaps, a new thought, perhaps he can make it business.  Perhaps he can bind Charles to him.

That thought pleases him.  He asks for the bill and a taxi to the Gare du Nord.  He should be in time for the night train to London.

\---------------

When he arrives at the clinic and asks for Charles, they take him first to Halverstone.

The doctor says, "He's going through a queer patch.  They all do.  If he doesn't greet you with a hale and hearty what-ho, don't feel slighted."

Erik finds this hard to credit.  Charles is relentlessly positive.  So he doesn't recognise him at first in the huddled, pallid figure in the chair.  When he does, he is unsettled.  "Charles."

There is no response and Erik strides forward, keen to free his friend from whatever influence they've brought to bear on him.  It's probably some combination of drugs.  He knew, he knew, and he should have trusted his own instincts.

He kneels down beside Charles and is disturbed to see that Charles looks awful - his normally pale skin is ashy, he is unmoving and gazing fixedly at some dead bushes, and his expression is one Erik could never have imagined.  Baffled and despairing.  Charles who always thinks he knows everything, who never gives up, who never gives in, Charles looks broken.  

Horrible feelings shiver through Erik.  He touches Charles' wrist.  Skin contact, Charles told him, is always stronger.  "Charles."  

Charles blinks.  His lips part and slowly a look of wonder grows on his face.  He turns to Erik and suddenly there is a big bright smile and he can't help but respond.

"Erik!"  Charles turns his hand and shakes Erik's firmly.  "I'm so glad you're back."

And Erik is glad too, but he isn't sure how to express it.  There is a moment, and their faces are so close as he is kneeling right beside the chair and Charles is inclined towards him and he sways slightly…

Then recovers himself.  He does, though, say what he feels.  "It's good to see you, my friend."  Their hands are still joined and many emotions are swirling inside him.  He must pull back.  "Though I don't think tartan suits you much."  He fingers the blanket on Charles' shoulders.

Charles looks rueful but still smiling.  "I don't think blankets generally are my best look."

Erik's mind goes slightly awry at the thought of Charles and blankets.  And something flickers in Charles' eyes as though he knows what Erik is thi…, skin contact, of course.  Erik, gently, pulls his hand away and moves back slightly.  There is a slight dimming in the light that has come back into Charles' face, embarrassment and acceptance, and Erik can't have that, cannot be responsible for that, so he restores the closeness and squeezes Charles' shoulder.  "It's good to see you, though you don't look quite yourself."

"I haven't been myself.  These last few weeks, I've…  I don't know.  I suppose it all hit me and, well, it knocked me for six.  I've been rather down."

"Then perhaps it's time for that escape plan."

Charles sighs, "Oh, I wish it could be."

"It can.  We can go now."

Charles looks at him with a mixture of longing and incredulity.

  "You don't understand.  You don't know what I've lost, the number of things that you take for granted, not even realising.  That I used to take for granted.  I'll lend you my wheelchair one day, you can find out just how many things are suddenly that much harder when you don't have two good legs under you.  And there are … other, um, matters.  I would like to leave but I have to prepare, practise as much as I can first."

"Are they putting pressure on you, telling you that you're not capable?"

"Good God, no.  Quite the opposite, well, at least out loud.  And some of them, Nurse Penn particularly, are adamant that I _am_ capable and should stop lying around feeling sorry for myself, so I can learn what I need to get on with my life.  

"I see."

"I need to see this through.  I'm about halfway, though I suppose I may have lost some time."

"Can I help?"

"Just give me a push from time to time.  Remind me I have things to look forward to when I'm out of here."

"Of course.  Shall we go in?"

He walks beside Charles with a strange feeling in his breast, warm and light and somehow painful.  It is nothing he can remember feeling before and it's at odds with his normal state.  He doesn't know how to deal with it, how to behave in tune with it, it doesn't fit him.  So he buries it in ice and ignores it.

It's dark outside when the nurse knocks and says visiting hours are over.  Erik bristles but Charles says, "Give us another five minutes."

The woman nods and withdraws.

Erik turns to Charles.

"I am rather tired," Charles admits.  "And I have to redouble my efforts tomorrow.  I've been skipping some sessions lately.  I need to get back to the grindstone."

"Do.  We need you."

There is warmth in Charles' smile, and a thud in Erik's chest makes him take a deep breath and stand up.  He needs to strengthen the ice and distance is the best way to do that.

They say their goodbyes.  Just as Erik reaches the door, Charles says, "Oh, um, since you haven't seen the others, I should tell you."

Erik wonders what's gone wrong now.

Charles twists the wheelchair slightly and won't quite meet Erik's eyes. "You might not be very happy with me."

"Oh?"  _What_ has he agreed to now?

"I told Dr Michaels he could stay."

Erik stares at Charles.  Of course he told him to stay.  Naturally.  He should have expected it.  Erik takes a deep breath.  "You told him to?  You feel that you will need his medical assistance in future?"

"I think it's a strong possibility.  But mostly I told him to stay because he wanted to."

"It was his choice."

"Yes."

"Fine, then."

"Really?"  Charles looks pleased.

"Yes."  Erik will change Michaels' mind back.  "Look after yourself, Charles.  Keep working.  We need you out with us as soon as possible.  I'll see you tomorrow."  

\---------------

He makes his way through the winter evening to the house in Hampstead that Charles' mother has taken for the duration of his stay in the clinic.  It's near the heath, set back from the road with a large garden and trees.  Erik wonders idly how Althea manages to avoid the Supertax that is crippling so much of the old money in Britain.

"Hey, boss."

He around and up.  In the shadows he can just make out something shimmering in the branches of an old, spreading tree.  There is a buzzing and and Angel flies down next to him.  She's wearing a short skirt, thick tights, a bikini top and goosebumps.  Her wings wrap over her shoulders and fade into her skin.  she immediately pulls on her jumper.

"We wondered if you were coming back."

"You doubted me?"

"I hardly know you.  And I've known a lot of people who talk big but don't stay the distance."

"You'll learn to know me better.  I won't abandon any of you."

She shrugs.  "Then welcome back.  We've saved you a bedroom."They approach the house.  "Do you fly here often?"

"We're pretty well hidden here but no.  It's not smart to take risks.  Besides, Mrs Marko-X has conniptions if we're too open, because of the servants.  We've got _servants."_   She sounds awed.  "Actual _servants_.  It's … weird.  I thought it would be great but I can't get used to it."

"You will."

"I get embarrassed about asking them to do anything.  Anyway, Mrs M-X doesn't want them to know about us, though Hank and Alex reckon at least one of them must be MI5."

"I'm sure of it."

"We haven't guessed who it is yet, though.  And, oh God, you should have heard Alex and Sean complain when she hired them a _tutor._ "

They enter the house.  The hall isn't a lot warmer than outside.

"The family room's through here, there'll be a fire."

There is, along with his fellow mutants and the inconvenient humans.  Hank is seated in a high wing chair away from the fire, dyed and made-up, fruitlessly trying to deny his metamorphosis.  Alex and Sean are wrestling in a corner, Raven is pacing, Michaels is seated on a pouffe, twisting around between Raven and the boys, clearly incapable of intervening in either the physical or emotional conflict.  Charles' mother is accepting a crumpet from a Hughes, holding a folded newspaper with a pen clipped on it, saying, "Six down, nine letters, ***"

"Erik!" Cries Raven.

"Doesn't fit," says Mrs Marko-Xavier, while her daughter rushes towards him.

"And I was told there was a bedroom for me," he says, trying to cover his surprise and unease at being hugged.

"Hey, boss," says Alex and releases Sean to come over and shake his hand.  Sean follows suit, Michaels stands and looks awkward, Hank's face is hard to read but he nods and doesn't seem upset to see Erik.  It's all … gratifying.

Mrs Marko-Xavier takes a long drag from her cigarette.  "Mr Lehnsherr.  We thought you had abandoned us."

"We did not!" Protests Raven.  She looks at Erik with big blue eyes, flashes them gold at him out of the butler's sight.  "We knew you'd come back.  We were just a bit worried."

Erik looks back at Charles's  mother.  "That will never happen.  I'm committed to my brothers and sisters."

She looks like she has swallowed bile.  She twists a smile into her expression.  "I'm glad to hear it."  The expression vanishes and she turns an impassive face to the butler.  "Mr Hughes, please have a room made up for Mr Lehnsherr."

"We have kept one ready on Miss Raven's instructions.  I'll just put the bedclothes on."

"Oh.  Good."

Raven says, "Have you had anything to eat?"  Erik shakes his head and she says, " come on, I'll take you to the kitchen."  She takes him by the hand and leads him out.

He looks down at their hands as they walk down a dark hall.  He gently disengages and removes his coat, carries it over that arm as an excuse.  In the kitchen, she pulls out a chair for him at the table and opens the refrigerator.  She darts around the kitchen, puts food in front of him, a plate, cutlery.  He takes her wrist as she sets down the plate.  She looks surprised.  He strokes her wrist with his thumb, the smooth skin so wrong on her.  He looks up and lifts an eyebrow.

Raven has a strange expression on her face.  

"The servants have gone home, haven't they?"

"Ex… except Hughes."

"And he's upstairs."

She looks down at where he's holding her.  "Um?  Oh!  Yes."  She changes. 

Erik feels the flutter under his fingers.  He strokes the ridges and then lets go.  He sits back and smiles at her.  "That's better."

She smiles too.  "Yes.  I'm really glad you're back."

Erik consults his feelings and finds, on balance, "Yes, so am I."

She sits with him while he eats a cold supper, and tells him about Michaels staying - something she seems pleased about - and a grim day out with Charles.  That description makes Erik angry.  Typical humans, hating and rejecting that which is different.  He wishes he'd been there.  Charles would probably have stopped him taking steps, even non-mutant ones.  The man has the mentality of a martyr, forgiving people who aren't fit to wipe his boots.

"Erik?" Says Raven.  "Are you all right?"

He looks up at her, cocks his head.

"You were scowling something fierce."

"It makes me angry that Charles should be treated that way; he's better than all of them.  They judge us when they are nothing more than cancers on this world."

Raven fiddles with the pepper pot.  "Not everyone's like that."

"All of them," pronounces Erik.

"No."

He looks at her in surprise.

"Mom, to start with.  And Heidi."

"Who's Heidi?"

"My friend," she says, as though he ought to know.  "Remember?  The one I told and she helped us."

"Once."

"No, we've seen each other several times.  Angel and I have been up at Oxford and she's been up here.  And her Mom went to see Charles.  Um.  Erik?"

Erik forces a smile, makes his frozen body move, mechanically eating now tasteless food.  He shouldn't have left.  He knew Charles' opinions and yet he left and the human serpents slithered in.  Althea, Michaels, a tutor, and now these two Oxford women.  Servants, MI5, they are becoming boxed in.

He looks down, tries to think of a way out, but the only way is to leave, and he can't take Charles away yet.  If he took the others and came back for Charles, that would mean leaving them alone again, and who knows what connections they would make?

For a slow minute, he wonders if he should have followed Frost, Azazel and Riptide.  Wouldn't he be better off with people who clearly have the same beliefs and objectives as him?

It would be easier, surely, but only for him.  It would leave Charles rushing about, convincing other mutants to follow him, working for humans, trying to advance his unworldly, ignorant agenda.  Not noticing the bars, the chains, the executioners until they close about him and drive him to his death.

He looks up, sees Raven looking nervously at him.  And Charles would be dragging the others to their deaths with him.  Erik cannot bear to think of fighting Charles for the soul of every mutant they find, nor of the enslavement and annihilation of their race.  He will stay.

He smiles at Raven.  She is confused, she's been sheltered, in many ways.  He shouldn't blame her.  "I'm glad your friend seems to accept you.  And, there was another, wasn't there?"

Her eyes drop.  She rubs the edge of the table with her thumb.  "Diane.  Yeah.  That,  that's,  she's still not …  She still doesn't want to see me.  Though we heard that Dr Ryan stopped her taking it any further."

"Good.  And I look forward to meeting Heidi."

She smiles widely.  "You'll like her, I know it."

He just nods.  Let her think that for now.  "Thank you for the meal."  He helps her clear up, mindful of her complaints from Redbearn and the need to prove they don't need a housekeeper.

They return to the living-room.  To his satisfaction, Mrs Marko-Xavier isn't there, but the others are.  Alex is lying on the floor near the fire propped up on his elbows, Sean and Hank on the sofa, Angel tucked up on a chair and Michaels still on the pouffe.

"So, boss, did you find anything?"  Alex asks.

"Only remnants.  I didn't find the others, they've already moved on."

"Good."

Erik sits in the wing chair and raises an eyebrow.  "They are your brothers and sisters."

"No way!  They're a bunch of psychos, they slaughtered a ton of soldiers and tried to burn the world."

"They are mutants, just like you, adrift in a hostile world.  Schmidt got to them first.  Perhaps they would have been different if it had been Charles or me."

"Maybe," he begrudges.  "I'm still glad you didn't find them.  So what now?"

"Tell me what you've been doing."

"Not a lot.  There's this tutor, Davison."

"He's OK," says Sean, "he's actually kinda interesting.  He takes us round London and tells us the history of each place, like what happened right there.  He took us to Hampton Court and out to Runnymede.  You know about that?"

"The Magna Carta.  It was done for the sake of the barons, not the people."

Alex says, "Right, and then we talked about 'unintended consequences'.  He made a big deal about them.  Tell me I don't have to take lessons anymore.  We're getting back to proper training, right?"

"Do you remember what I told you about knowledge?"

Alex rolls his eyes.  "Knowledge is choice," he drones.  "I think it's a little late for me to have a choice about the Magna Carta."

Hank says, "The Magna Carta mark one, maybe.  Civil rights legislation is an ongoing process.  Look at what's going on back home with Dr King and the SCLC.  And Davison took us to where the Suffragettes protested.  We're the next wave, so yeah, I'd say what he's teaching us is very relevant."

"Yes," says Erik, "isn't it?" 

"It's what Mom told him to concentrate on," says Raven.  "I think she's trying to be supportive.  While absolutely disapproving of our entire plan, and intending to fight us every step of the way."

Erik doesn't know what to think of that.  Perhaps she's trying to ensure they get ensnared in the old ways of thinking, following the same human path that has mislead them for centuries.  He says, "So this Davison…"

"Laurence Davison."

"… has been teaching you history and political philosophy.  Anything else?"

Alex says, "Art galleries, plays, concerts - not the good kind, books, public lectures, bleurgh."  He falls back to the floor and covers his face.

"To be fair," says Sean, some of it was interesting.  I liked the science fiction books he gave us."

"Yeah, they were OK.  And the thrillers."

"We read the book of Dr No.  It was different from the film but it still had the hot chick in the bikini."

"I prefer to watch her than to read about her," says Alex.

Angel says, "Typical,'" and throws a cushion at him.

"And that's it?"  Asks Erik.  "History, political philosophy and arts?"

"We do some math."  Alex shrugs.  "That's OK."

\---------------

He's disappointed.  Without him and Charles to motivate them, they're drifting.  Angel and Hank are making some progress but only Hank's work sounds useful - using the Science Museum's Library to study and draw up plans.  Angel is still trying to beat a path as a jeweller.  Erik wishes she could look past human desires and find a new path.

None of them have made any effort to further their shared goals.  It is good the boys are being educated but perhaps he should oversee that education himself.  And Raven.  She most of all he is surprised at.  Though considering how she decided to further their aims in the past, perhaps he ought to be happy.  He'll have to find a way to separate her from the humans, her friend, Michaels and her foster mother.  

He lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling and tries to plan.  He will spend more time with all of them, get them practising their skills again.  Where he'll do that, he isn't quite sure.  He'll find somewhere.  Perhaps if they go down to Redbearn, they can explore the grounds and find somewhere.

He will give Raven the companionship that she perhaps can't get from the boys.  It's a shame he didn't find Frost.  She would have been female companionship and a good role model to Raven and Angel.  

He will scare Michaels and the others off.  He will visit Charles and do whatever he can to support his progress.  And then…

And then…

And then he and Charles will find other mutants and teach them and … be ready.  For when the humans attack.  

No, that's not enough.  

They will take the fight to the humans.  

He closes his eyes for sleep, comfortable now he has an aim.  He may not be entirely clear on the details but he's sure it will come to him.

\---------------

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I'm losing my way with this story. I know what I want to write next but I don't know if the last few chapters are as good as I think the first ones were. Maybe because there's not so much for the characters to do. I will give them some more action soon, maybe some more positive times. With Charles stuck in rehab, it feels as though everyone is just hanging on, or maybe I'm losing something in my writing. Your thoughts? I welcome honest criticism, preferably constructive.
> 
> Also, can I just add continuing thanks to my beta, Jenny_wren, for all her support, great feedback, and patience. She is wonderful, and so, if you haven't seen it, is her Dean/Castiel fic. Thank you, Jenny!


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